


Jar of Hearts

by Makii



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Gentle Facefucking, Humour, I was so drunk I broke into your house AU, M/M, Met because I couldn't open this jar so I asked my neighbor for help AU, Neighbors AU, Past Child Abuse, Smut, Swearing, negative self image, punk!jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makii/pseuds/Makii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco, having just moved into his new apartment, is struggling on his own. He has his friends, old and new, to help him though. And he just so happens to have an amazingly attractive neighbor. </p><p>Jean is an asshole who drinks too much and has issues. His cute neighbor needs his help, and he's more than willing to get in his pants. Er, get on his good side, I mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Marco) Jelly Jars and Manly Muscles

The pleasing aroma of freshly-made coffee fills my nostrils. I lean against the counter and pour the black liquid into my snowman mug, before adding a splash of milk and several teaspoons of sugar and stirring it. Mom always says my coffee is way too syrupy, but that's just the way I like it. My lips part into a yawn that fills my throat and stiffens my chest, and I blink my brown eyes groggily. I haven't been sleeping too well. I used to sleep in until two in the afternoon at every chance I got, but now I'm sometimes waking up at 7:00am after a night of fitful sleeping. True, unadulterated misery. 

Every since I can remember, I've always had troubles sleeping in different places. I hardly ever had sleepovers with my friends, because I would just end up pulling an all-nighter by myself. Too many times where I would lay awake in the bed, or on the sofa, or on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and checking the time every five minutes because I was so restless. It's not that I was uncomfortable, physically or mentally, I just couldn't get myself to fall asleep regardless of how tired I was.

There was a time when I could just go home and catch up on sleep after a sleepover with no actual sleep. But now I _am_ home. A week ago I moved out of my childhood townhouse of 24 years, and into an apartment. Despite my underlying feelings of accomplishment, I'm lonely. And tired. Finding work was really hard after graduating from college, so I had to move three hours away from my family. 

At least I still have a few of my college friends around. Armin, legitimate genius, is still in school for some psychology field. He doesn't live that close, but he still comes around once in a while. Bertholdt, like me, took two years of horticulture. He even helped me get a job working for his uncle's company, for which I am eternally grateful. Connie went into video game designing, which it pretty cool. But he's jobless as far as I know. 

But I've been so busy moving in I haven't really been able to hang out with them, or even talk to them lately. 

I bring the steaming mug up to my lips and cautiously take a sip. I cringe. To hot for my sensitive tongue. Sighing tiredly, I carefully carry mug into my small living room. My new apartment is charming and it has a lot of inexpensive perks, but everything is smaller than I'm used to. The bathroom... Ugh. 

I slump onto my pale, coral-coloured sofa, reach for the black remote, and flick on the TV. I surf through the channels. 

Crime show. Cartoon. Soap opera. Cartoon. Sports. Game Show. 

I go back to the crime show because that's the best thing on, even though they're usually pretty generic. It's about crime involving forgeries, like famous art and bonds and stuff. I actually end up getting really into it. The main character is a master forger named Neal Caffrey and he's hot as balls. He ends up striking a deal with the FBI; he works for them but has to wear a tracking anklet. At least he got out of prison though.

I guess he's made some really awesome forgeries, especially paintings. The fact that he's basically a criminal artist makes him even hotter. I don't know what it is about art, but the precision and creativity that it takes really gives me an appreciation for it. Not that I'm interested in doing art.

Oh look, a lesbian FBI agent. It's cool how they just throw a gay character in there without making it a big deal.

Apparently I dozed off because I'm suddenly blinking my eyes open while the grating sounds of my ringtone buzzes irritatingly in my ear. I should really change it to a song or something. I stumble up and nearly knock over my mug, before sliding off of the sofa. I head into the kitchen and grab my cell phone from the counter. 

"Hello?" I ask curiously. I hadn't bothered to check the caller I.D.

"Hey shithead. How's life in your new apartment?" 

I blink my eyes in confusion. "Uh, sorry, who is this?" 

"It's Connie, you dumbass." 

"Oh, sorry man. Life's good, I guess. Kind of boring, but my first job is this Saturday." 

"Well I happen to know of a party occurring on the very same date. Think you can make it?"

I'm silent for a few seconds. Surrounding myself with loud music and annoying, drunk people doesn't really sound like my idea of fun. Then again, my social life has kind of been nonexistent lately, so I figure I probably shouldn't pass up on an opportunity like this.

"Yeah, I guess so. Text me the address?" 

"Sure thing. Hey, you can meet Sasha!" 

"Huh? Who's that?" I ask, my interest and curiosity peaked. My best buddy found himself a honey?" 

"Smoking hot babe, that's who. I met her at a fast food joint, where she works, and she's all passionate about food, which is totally adorable. She's even going to like, this fancy fucking culinary school and shit. I swear to God, she makes food an art. She's the da Vinci of food making. My fries were literal perfection in my mouth. Anyway we started hanging out. I don't really know where we're at yet, but all in good time, right?" 

"I guess so. And like they say, 'The way into a man's heart is through his stomach' right?" 

"Fucking right you are, my friend." 

It was cute, how excited Connie was about this Sasha character. "Well she sounds awesome. Can't wait to meet her this weekend." 

"Yeah, we'll be there around 7." 

"I might be a bit late, I don't know how long my job will take me. It's supposed to be a pretty standard garden set up with stones and shit, but who knows." 

"Cool, man. You'll have to tell me about it on Saturday." 

"Sure thing." 

"Look, I gotta go. I'm meeting Sasha in a few. I'll see you soon, yeah?" 

"Yeah. Talk to you soon," I say before hanging up. I slide the sleek, black phone into the right pocket of my jogging pants just as my stomach begins growling. I glance over at the oven clock, which confirms that it's lunch time. Well, now that I'm an adult, I have to make adult meals for myself. That can only mean one thing.

 _Peanut butter, jelly time. Peanut butter, jelly time._

I rummage through my fridge and drawers and pull out all of my materials and equipment. First, lay the two slices of bred onto the counter. Carefully, of course. Then, unscrew the peanut butter container. Stick the knife in and gentle scrape up a large amount of the sticky peanutty goodness. Spread onto the flat surface of one of the bread slices. The peanut butter is smooth. Flawless. 

Next, the jelly. Unscrew the jar- 

Shit. 

I struggle with the jar of my mom's homemade strawberry jam. My palm and fingers grip the fridge-cold metal of the lid and I twist as hard as I can. The muscles in my arm are clenching and my hand is seriously starting to cramp up. Seriously? I can't even open a fucking jar of jam? 

It's the tipping point of my crisis. All of the exhaustion and loneliness and stress from moving out and living on my own, topped with the fact that I'm so pathetic I can't even open a jar. My eyes start to sting in tears of frustration. What was I thinking, that I could make it on my own? It's like this one little thing sends my world crashing down. It's like a huge sign from God. 'You're not ready for this, Marco. You're a weakling, you'll never achieve anything.' 

My hands clench into fists as I recall my father saying similar things. That is, when he still lived with my mother. You know, before he walked out on her for another woman. A blonde half his age. Total cliché, I know. I glare at the jar. 

I grab the it and storm out the front door of my apartment and step straight up to the door across from my own. And I knock. A few times. 

Then I realize I'm being an idiot. Why would I waste a stranger's time for a jar of jelly? For a sandwich? Too late, I hear the door open. Now I feel awkward. 

To make matters worse, said stranger is like. Hot. Really hot. In a black muscle shirt, wow. He's tall with sharp facial features and intense, light brown eyes and his hair is like, dark on the bottom and light blonde on the top? I wonder if its natural. Whatever he pulls it off. Oh, he looks pissed. 

"What do you want?" 

I gulp. And blush like an idiot. "U-uh. My name's M-Marco. I live across from you." 

"And?" 

Right. Idiot! "Oh! And... I can't open my jar. C-can you help me?" 

He stares at me vehemently and I feel like crying again. What prompted me to do this? 

"You just knocked on some stranger's door because you couldn't open a jar by yourself?" 

"Hey! I really fucking want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?" 

He sighs. I'm such a dumbass, Connie was right. 

"Give it to me." 

I hand the jar over to him, hesitantly, and he takes it. He twists the cap, but realizes that it's really stuck on there. 

"Fuck. My hands all sweaty," he hisses. He tugs up the hem of his shirt and uses it to grip the lid. This way, not only can I see his nice biceps in action, but his lower abdomen as well. Lightly-formed abs, wow. Now that I pay close (well, _closer_ ) attention, I realize he's in shorts and that he's all sweaty. Guess I caught him in the middle of a workout or something. While I'm checking him out, I see eyebrow piercings and spacers. Kind of punk, huh? Attractive, very attractive.

It kind of makes me self conscious of my own body. I mean, I'm not like overweight. I just have zero muscle mass and a little extra chub. Maybe I better cut down on the peanut butter and jelly sammiches. 

After swearing at the jar and putting what seems to be a lot of strength into it, the lid finally unscrews with a 'pop' and a jerk of hot-stranger's muscles. He lets out a breath and hands it to me. The jar is all warm now. I smile. He glares. 

"Th-thank you," I mumble out before whirling around and scrambling towards my front door, which I left open. His voice makes me stop and look back. 

"Marco? I'm Jean." 

With that he closes the door. And I have a name. Jean? Sounds French. Sounds sexy. I smile as I return to my kitchen and complete my sandwich making. 

A dollop of crimson jelly onto the other slice of bread, spread elegantly across the white surface. Perfection. I close both containers and return them to their respective homes. Then I place one slice of bread onto the other. 

This, ladies and gentlemen, is art. I'll show this Sasha chick what's up.

It tastes so much better than I expected. Maybe because I'm thinking of sweaty, punk Jean and his kind muscles helping me out. 

Maybe living on my own won't be so bad. 

I look forward to seeing Hot Jean again.


	2. (Marco) Candy Cane

Saturday arrives quickly, and it's the day of my first job working with Bertholdt for his uncle. The best part is that I don't have to be there until afternoon, so I get to sleep in as late as possible (which isn't that late, unfortunately) and hang around, taking my time. Bert picks me up around 1:30 in his rusty, light green truck. AKA his one true love. Within half an hour, we're pulling up into the drive of what I figure is rich-people property.

The house is large, clad in round, dark grey stones and a burgundy ceiling. The garage next to it is of matching embellishment, and houses an impressive accumulation of elegant, expensive-looking cars and trucks. Bert isn't impressed, but damn, what I wouldn't give for one of those classics. These people have taste, I'll give them that. 

We step out of the truck, make our way up the steps and knock on the front door, to be opened by a rather short, severely grumpy-looking man. He has dark black hair, styled into an undercut that suits him very well. His dark grey eyes stare up at us. 

"Good afternoon, you must be Mr. Rivaille?" I say politely, given that Bert is shy as hell and forced me to do the talking. 

The man nods, and begins, "Call me Levi. If you'll follow me, I'll explain how I want this done."

We follow him around to the back, and I am greeted by every horticulturist's wet dream. The back lawn is extensive. There are square-shaped, flat bricks that act as stepping stones that lead a path in between two dark grey pillars. Walls of trees to continue the path, before leading to an arch way. A large stream, with a stylishly ancient-looking brick bridge perched above it, running into a small lake. A goddamn fountain. Really, it's beautiful. Of course, it will require plenty of adorning. 

Levi describes in great detail what he would like done. 

"I've already placed orders for various plants, stone-pieces, and sculpture. I have designs drawn out," he explains, handing us a folder of papers. This guy sure is thorough. "Some of them are in the shed over there, others will arrive shortly. I trust you have everything you need?" 

The two of us nod, and Levi leaves us to it. We grab supplies from the truck and get to work. 

Vines coiling the arch and pillars. A plethora of flower types and colours decorating the paths. Very artistic sculptures of stone, marble, and other materials set up and worshiped by the perfect decorations.

It's hours and hours of grueling work. But we have help from the plant and stone companies providing the embellishing equipment. All that hard work is worth it because we've created a location worthy of royal wedding parties, and Bert and I made a shitton of cash. 

We're not even done though. We only finished half of the magnificent garden. Shit, you could film movies here for Christ's sake. Anyway, we have to come back next Saturday too. 

Bert and I head back to the truck, and I'm smiling like an idiot. I mean, I'm making a lot of money doing something I really love. And tonight I'm gonna be social. We pull out of the driveway and make our way down the road. The two of us are pretty sweaty, but Bert is soaked, which makes me chuckle. He glances at me. 

"Any plans for tonight?" he asks casually, one hand leaning on the arm rest with the other on the wheel. 

"Yeah, actually. Going to a party that Connie invited me to," I say proudly. Seriously, I feel really good about not being shut in the apartment again. 

"Oh? Think I'm going to the same one." 

"Seriously? Awesome, man. Meeting anyway specific?" I ask, thinking of Connie and Sasha. 

"Y-yeah, actually." 

I blink and stare at him. "Do tell." 

"Well, his name's Reiner. I met him a few weeks ago and we've hung out a few times." 

"And? You like him?" I press on, grinning. I mean, it kind of sucks that everyone suddenly has someone while I'm alone. Well, Armin too, but he's an aromantic asexual, so I'm pretty sure he isn't lonely like me. But I really am happy for Bert and Connie. 

"Uh. Uh, I guess? I mean he's attractive and really cool but I hardly know him. But I do want to see him again," the dark haired man says, a faint hint of pink lighting up his cheeks. 

I chuckle to myself. "That's great. I look forward to meeting him tonight, then. Assuming we're going to the same place." 

"Yeah, I'll introduce you! This'll be so much fun. What about you, Marco? Anyone catch your eye lately?"

My thoughts wander to Jean. He certainly caught my eye. But I really know nothing about him, so I respond vaguely. "Not really, just a hot neighbor." 

Bertholdt lets out a laugh. "Lucky you." 

Shortly after, Bert parks beside my apartment building. I thank him for the ride before entering the building and jogging up the stairs. Today was so much hard work and I'm genuinely worried I'll pass out before I get a drop of booze into my system. Maybe I should cancel? Nah, Connie would whine like a little bitch and guilt trip me. I glance at the clock. 

7:00pm. 

I should probably get ready. I take a short, cool shower and change into some clean clothes. I slip into black pants, a white T-shirt, and a light, pastel green blaser veste. I have a thing for pastel, okay? Glancing in the mirror, I ruffle my dark, damp hair before heading out the door. Thankfully, the address Connie sent me is in walking distance. 

About 20 minutes later arrive at the large townhouse. I can hear music beating lively from inside. It sounds like some kind of rap/dubstep combination. Deciding that no one will hear me knock, I simple barge in and am greeted by an expected party-atmosphere. There's a lot of people hanging around, drinking and smoking, but it's not overly-crowded. My nostrils fill with the clouds of marijuana and tobacco smoke, and I smile as college memories flood into my mind. Good thing I brought my wallet.

After weaving through the strangers, I find Connie standing with a pretty, brown-haired girl who I assume I Sasha. Connie glances up at me and waves me over, grinning. His eyes are lightly bloodshot and droopy and I realized he's stoned. 

"Ayyyyyyyyy, my main man Marco. This is Sasha, pretty lady I told you about. Real catch huh?" he says in slow words. Sasha bursts into laughter. I can't tell if she's high or not, but she is drinking out of a beer bottle. I hold out my hand for her to take, and she shakes it. 

"So you're the amazing chef who stole Connie's stomach. Er, his heart, I mean." 

She giggles, but nods. "Apparently. We're not even dating officially yet." 

"Yeah but he's so into you." 

"Guys, I'm right here," Connie pipes up, but he doesn't look annoyed. He doesn't even look embarrassed. Just sleepy and happy.

"You're so baked." 

"Like a motherfucking cake, man. Cake, Sasha let's go find some food." 

"God, I'm fucking starving!" she blurts out, before grabbing Connie's hand and dragging him away to what I assume is the direction of the kitchen. I like her. 

It doesn't take long for me to purchase a fat joint and a bottle of beer from a stranger. I'm not usually a hard drinker, so I stay away from hard liquor. I bring the joint up to my lips, light it, and take a nice, long toke. It's been a while, so I figure I probably should go easy on the green tonight. As I'm smoking and drinking like most of the people surrounding me, I make a few new friends. Suddenly I'm a freaking social butterfly, but whatever, most people are friendly. 

"Marco! Hey, over here!" 

I follow the sudden, familiar voice calling to me and turn around to find Bert standing with a blond. He's like, super jacked. With a big jaw and everything, I can see the appeal. I grin at the couple and approach them. 

"Hey, man! This the guy you were talking about?" I ask Bertholdt.

Before he can answer, Reiner cuts in, smiling. "You told your friend about me?"

Bertholdt blushes. And it's not the light pink like in the truck. It's feverish red. He stammers and I laugh hysterically, before directing my attention to new-jacked-blond-guy. 

"I'm Marco Bodt," I say, shaking his outstretched hand. 

"Reiner Braun. How'd you two meet?" 

"College. We both went for horticulture, and we work together now. You?" 

"Literally bumped into him in the street. Hit him so hard he fell to the ground. I felt so bad, that I bought him a coffee," he explains, chuckling. I laugh too. 

"What a cliche. It's pretty cute." 

Bert released a raging groan and suddenly he's holding a bottle of fireball. He takes a swig, and winces at the strength of the alcohol, which makes Reiner and I laugh. 

Connie and Bertholdt both found some pretty cool people. I hope it works out for everyone. Suddenly Reiner calls out in a thundering voice. 

"Hey, Jean! Jeanbo, get over here!" 

_Jean?_

Nah, it couldn't be. 

It is. 

I see a figure pushing its way towards us. Light and dark brown hair. Intense, angry eyes. Sharp features. Yes, it's my hot neighbor. 

The first thing I notice is that he changed his hair. The darker hair is still buzzed, but the light brown is mostly just on the top of his head, with less on the sides. It's like, a faux-hawk type or something, I don't know what to call it. It totally completes his punk look though. And it's totally hot. 

He glances up at Reiner, but before he can say anything, he sees me. 

"You!" 

"You know him, Jean?" Bertholdt asks. Apparently they know each other. 

"He's my neighbor," Jean responds cooly. His words are slow. He doesn't look angry, just kind of bored. 

" _Jean_ is your hot neighbor, Marco?" Bert says incredulously. 

My cheeks flood with warmth. Thanks, Bert. Thanks a lot. 

"I'm offended by your surprise, Bertie. But I suppose you only have eyes for your loverboy, Reiner. That right?" Bertholdt's crimson blush returns to match mine. He storms off in embarrassment and Reiner excuses himself, looking rather happy as he goes off after Bert. 

I clear my throat, unsure of what to say. Jean looks at me. 

"Hot neighbor, huh?" 

"Uh. U-umm, y-yeah? I guess," I stumble through my words like a drunk man through the city. Catastrophic. 

"Relax. I'm flattered," he says, before taking a large gulp of the red cup that I'm finally noticing. I wonder what's in it. 

"I like your hair," I mumble bluntly. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. It really - You pull it off." 

"Thanks, Marco. I'm touched. You look spiffy. I'm not a fan of pastel, I prefer dark colours, but they sure as hell look good on you," he begins with a friendly smile before he leans towards me. "But I'll bet they look even better off of you." 

Is he seriously flirting with me? The way he whispers that in my ear doesn't really help the dizzying warmth of my embarrassment. Plus I'm kinda high and surrounded by warm bodies. 

"Uhhhh..." 

Jean laughs. Idiot, he likes how flustered I am! I scowl, but I'm secretly quite pleased that he's showing any kind of interest in me at all.

Grinning, he hands me his cup. 

"Now, let's get druuuuuunk!!!" he shouts, and people cheer like idiots. I take a swig of whatever is in the cup, and force it down my throat.

"Candy cane vodka, great, isn't it? MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!" Jean yells and takes his cup back. It's the beginning of autumn. He's a few months early.

He's a lot drunker than I thought. 

This is gonna be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco has a thing for classic cars and pastel. 
> 
> Okay, so I like weed and candy cane vodka. Now you know things about me.


	3. (Jean) Drunken Douchebags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also sorry I'm so SHIT at writing ugh. I realize that some of it seems kind of chaotic, but that's because it's being told from the perspective of someone drunk. So yeah. 
> 
> Vaguely smutty make out. Hopefully I'm not too terrible at writing.

Time both speeds up and slows down. Space is warped and distorted by shadows and figures and laughter. And music. Loud and lively and beating like a heart. It fills my ears and chest and makes me skin tickle from the volume. My eyes follow Marco as his mental state rapidly descends into one of complete, spiraling inebriation. He's such a lightweight. I meant what I said to him before, how good he looked in that pale shade of pastel green. Almost looks as good as his tight black pants. But I still think he would look even better naked and under me, moaning and writhing and begging. 

God, I'm such a horny drunk. 

But my master plans of persuasion and seduction have been manifesting. Not that Marco requires a great deal of enticing, given that he's so obviously into me. I recall the other day when I first met him, I'd been in the middle of a work out. Marco really hadn't been subtle when he was checking me out. 

Not that I minded, of course. 

And then again, tonight. Was it hours before? Or just minutes? My mind couldn't quite pick up on the changing of time. But I memorized the bashful blush creeping up Marco's neck and pooling into his adorably round cheeks. He get's so wonderfully flustered. I can't even begin to imagine how he'll look with me pounding into his ass. Alright, time to get this show on the road. 

I've lost Marco in the sea of dipsomaniac people. I weave through the crowd. So many more people have arrived, and frankly, I need to get away from these trashed idiots. There. I see a flash of green-apple, just like the bottle of Sourpuss I'm holding. On my way towards Marco, I spot my old friend Reiner. And his new boyfriend or whatever the hell they are. Ah yes, the beautiful art of drunken grinding. Bertholdt looks so fucking whipped, that I pull out my iPhone and snap a few quick pictures to show him when he's sobered up. Afterwards, I make Marco my priority. 

Idiot is dancing like a trashed white girl, no offense to white girls, of course. But seriously, it's humiliating. I just can't stop myself from pulling my phone back out to take a short video. What can I say, I thoroughly enjoy embarrassing people. 

Probably why no one fucking likes me. 

Soon, however, I slide my phone into my pocket and reach out towards Marco. My hand catches his wrist and I pull him towards me. His dark brown eyes, like chocolate chips, flash towards me in surprise. But when he realizes that it's me, he grins. 

"Jeaaaaaaaaaaanboooooo. Your piercings make you all sparklyyyy and pretty," he slurs, leaning so close towards me that I can see freckles fluttering across his face. I think that's because he's just off-balance. Either way, he's certainly lost his shyness. 

He's really just... Let loose. He's much more attractive this way, looking all relaxed and happy. Like he doesn't have a care in the world. His dark brown hair is all messy and his forehead is shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Seriously though, he's this weird mixture of cute and sexy and I'm digging it. I decide not to respond to his comment, and instead just begin pulling him through the plethora of people. We move towards the stairs. 

"Jeanjeaaaaaaaaan, I don't think I can make it up the stairs. Where are we goiiiiiingg?" he whines in a high-pitched tone, but he doesn't resist me as I pull him up the grey, carpeted steps. 

"C'mon Marco, you can do it," I coax in a soothing voice, gradually tugging him up the stairs. He stumbles but I hold him up. 

Eventually we make it to the top, and Marco is practically leaning on me as I guide him down the hallway, searching for an empty bedroom. Finally, at the end of the hall, I spot an open door with an unused bed inside. I grin. So far, my mission has been a success. Not that there was ever much of a challenge. I direct Marco towards the bed, which he flops onto with the grace of chubby puppy in a foot of snow. He lays on his back, staring happily at the ceiling, while I turn to close the door and lock it. Can't have anyone walking in on us. 

Actually that would be kind of fucking hot. 

I leave it unlocked. 

Then I whirl around to face Marco, who's now sitting up and staring at me. On his face is a mixture of unease and anticipation. A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips as I slink towards him. 

"J-Jean? What are we doing here?" he whispers as I crawl onto the bed. I usher him to move until his back is leaning against the bed's backboard. His legs are stretched out in front of him. 

"Shh, Marco. Don't be nervous. This is what you wanted, isn't it?" I ask softly and I climb over his legs and straddle his hips with my knees. The Adam's apple of his throat travels up as he swallows thickly. Finally, there's that blush I love so much. It floods into the tanned, freckled skin of his slightly chubby cheeks. I hadn't really noticed his freckles, until now. I grin like Lucifer as I wondered where else he might have freckles. Guess I would just have to find out for myself.

I place hands on his cheeks, cupping them, and enjoying the warmth that I have created. I love the effect that I have on Marco. I love how powerful it makes me feel. This is what I live for. This is the only time that I'm something. I bring our lips together. 

He tastes so strongly of liquor and it just makes the kiss a thousand times more intoxication. After what seems like hours of hesitance, Marco finally begins to respond. His lips move against mine. I allow my tongue to slide against his, before I take his bottom lip into my teeth and nibble roughly. The way he moans into my mouth sends a desperate heat down to my crotch, hardening my dick. I feel his hands wrap around my hipbones, gripping them tightly as he deepens the kiss. 

I pull away and he fucking _whines_ like he can't get enough of me. 

"Fuck, you're responsive. Marco, do you have any idea how fucking hot you are?" I breath into his ear.

I press my lips to the corner of his lips before sliding them down to his jaw and mouthing at it. Marco shudders at my light touches. I leave feathery kisses all over the side of his neck before I find my lips at his collarbones. I gently graze my teeth against his slightly sweaty skin, tasting the saltiness. Marco is too quiet, and now I'm done with my sweet kisses. 

I press my lips roughly in the spherical indent above the center of his two collarbones before sticking my tongue out and licking a stripe up the column of his throat, causing another one of his delightful moans. I can feel the faint vibrations of it. My lips and tongue begin exploring his throat roughly, sucking and biting and leaving wet marks that will turn into red and purple bruises tomorrow. I like the picture painted into my mind. Everyone will know that for tonight, he was mine. 

My hands move away from his face and down, so that I can slip them under his veste and shirt. My palms run up and down his skin, causing him to shiver. 

"J-Jean," he breaths heavily, his eyelids drooping. He lets out a small gasp when my fingertips ghost along his nipples, hardening them. He arches his back and I chuckle, teasing the buds. Marco begins to pant lightly, and groans when I begin pinching and pulling at his nipples. I can feel how aroused he is. How hard he got for me. 

"Ahh, Marco, you make the prettiest sounds for me," I say in a sultry voice.

My left hand continues to taunt the flesh of his chest and abdomen, while my right slithers down towards his waistband, and into his pants. Suddenly Marco tenses up beneath me. His hand grabs my wrist, pulling me away from his dick. 

What the fuck? 

"No," he says in a raspy voice. I look at him, confused. 

"What do you mean, no?" I demand. The irritation I feel makes my voice harsh. 

"I mean I don't want that," he says in slow, drunk words. "I don't want to go that far." 

"Seems like you wanted it a few seconds ago," I say, a light sneer warping my voice. 

"No, Jean," he repeats, swallowing. He looks uncomfortable, offended. 

I sit there for a few moments, still straddling him, before I pull my wrist away. 

"You're such a fucking tease, Marco," I snap, and I see hurt in his eyes. What the fuck does he have to be hurt about? I slide off of him and storm out of the room. All I wanted was a good fuck, and he'd ruined the night for me. 

I'm not nearly drunk enough for this. I stalk off in search of something to drink. Something strong. I'm so fucking pissed off. What the hell is wrong with him? Am I not good enough for him? Seems like I'm not good enough for anyone, sometimes. I see a half-empty bottle of Jack and swipe it, not caring who it belongs to. It's not long before I find a pretty girl, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, standing alone. 

Easy target. 

I approach her, all smiles and whispered compliments. She's all giggles and teases, but I have a feeling she'll actually provide me with what I need. 

She does. And my night ends the way I had wanted to. Just, maybe not with who I wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Jean sounded kind of rapey, I just didn't know how else to go about it. He IS currently a manwhore and an asshole, but he'll get better, I promise <3 
> 
> I might re-edit it and make it more detailed.


	4. (Marco) Drunk B & E

I groggily force open my dark eyes and am greeted by blurry, unfamiliar surroundings. I sit up as my mind tries to make sense of things, while simultaneously attempting to battle one of the worst hangover headaches I've ever experienced. Truthfully, I can't even remember drinking that much, but I suppose that kind of proves that I must have overdone it. 

Staring around, I find myself on a floor. There's a bed to my right, and on it, a twitch of movement causes my eyes to focus on the closely shaven head. 

"Connie?" I blurt out in question. 

I see my arms reaching out to the edge of the bed so I can lazily pull myself up, so I'm standing. I blink in surprise at what I find. Not one skinny loser, but two. Connie is sprawled over the bed, and who the hell knows whose bed it is anyway, with a girl beside him. Her head is resting on his outstretched arm, with right arm and leg curled over his body. Like a body pillow. 

The girl's hair was dark auburn and tied into a loose, messy ponytail. What was her name again?

Sandy? Sara? Sasha? 

Sasha! That's it! Connie's new lady friend. Well good for them. My hand reaches down to my pocket, feeling for my phone. Or rather, not feeling it. Panic races into my heart as I drop to the ground and begin crawling around the floor. Where the fuck is my phone? I dig under dirty clothes and search under the bed, until I find the piece of shit device by the dresser. I sigh in relief, before going about my original plan. I quickly snap a picture of the two cuddling, passed out, before I quietly sneak out of the room and stumble down the stairs. 

My head still hurts like a bitch.

As I'm stalking through the hushed rooms filled with sleeping strangers, a movement catches my eye. I spot short blond hair and my heart rate lurches. Jean? I swallow and feel an embarrassed blush creep into my cheeks as I recall our totally hot make out session from last night. Of course, I also scowl in anger at the way he treated me. Like I owed him sex because he expected it. 

So this is how it feels to be a woman.

I release a small breath of irritation, grumbling to myself as I stare down the half-asleep male until he moves so that I can see his face.

Oh. 

Not Jean.

Here I am, silently seething in rage at a total stranger like the total idiot that I am. I wander through the house, collecting the belongings that I must have ditched throughout the hazy night of drunkenness. There's my other shoe. Oh, look, my coat! Is that my library card? I continue to regret that the only thing I remember from last night is my mistake with Stupid Hot Jean. After collecting everything I decide to just slip out before people start to really wake up. Especially Jean. I really don't want to see him. That would just make me embarrassed and angry. So... I leave. 

But I'm not ready to go home. 

I'm not ready to be reminded of my responsibilities and adulthood. 

So I don't go home. I wander the streets of the city in the pale, yellow light of the late morning sun, surrounded by people going who knows where to do who knows what. I've taken so many turns, read so many street names, and I'm no longer sure where I am. I'm not sure that I care, either. 

After roaming the vaguely busy streets for an hour or so and walking down the road perpendicular to the road I lived on, I fortunately come across a nice-looking coffee and sandwich place, called 'Tim Hortons'. I've never even heard of it before. I enter and hear the short ring of the bell that announces my arrival. Inside the relatively small building is a a long counter top, with pastries below it and behind a barrier of glass. There are also booths, or regular table and chairs. I approach the counter and the lady, clad in a brown uniform, smiles up at me. 

"Welcome to Tim Hortons, how can I help you?" she asks. 

"Uuhhhhhhhh..." I mumble, unsure. What does this place even sell? My eyes scan the advertising boards and I randomly pick a few things. I don't want anything to make my hangover worse, even though it's not so bad now. "Um, ten-pack Timbits? Assorted? And medium coffee, two creams, three sugars." 

She responds with the small cost and I pay her, before waiting for my order. I bend down to stare through the glass and at the pastries. Donuts, danishes, muffins, and Timbits, which kind of look like donut-holes I suppose. Finally the brown cup of coffee and box of Timbits are waiting for me, so I smile at the cashier before sitting in a booth, near a corner. I pop open the lid of my coffee, so that it can cool off, and peek into my pastry box. The box itself is yellow and red with pictures of Timbits all over, which amuses me for some reason. I pick one out and plop it into my mouth. 

It's a religious experience. 

The outer surface is crispy with flakes of glaze that crack under the pressure of my teeth. The chocolate pastry is warm and moist and practically melts on my tongue. I let out a nearly obscene moan. How is it I have never been here before? I grab another one. Pumpkin flavour, I believe. 

I take a break. You know what they say, too much of a good thing. Besides, I want these to last. I grab my cup of coffee, bring it to my lips, and tentatively sip the bittersweet liquid, when I hear a grating voice. 

"MARCO!!!" 

Startled, my movements jerk and send a splash of scalding coffee into my mouth, causing me to choke. I quickly swallow the beverage, my mouth numbing from the burning, before I look around wildly, until I see her. A tall slender female with dark brown hair, pulled into a ponytail. Piercing golden eyes meant to intimidate. Beside her is a small goddess, otherwise known as Christa. Sleek, golden hair like the sunshine. Large, blue eyes like little pools of water. And a dazzling, sweet smile. 

If only she wasn't dating my cousin, Ymir. 

Funny enough, this is how I became good friends with Armin. He's cousins with Christa, you see. I already knew him from high school, but when his cousin started dating my cousin, we just kind of ended up hanging out more. 

Ymir and Christa two approach me. 

"What are you two doing here?" I ask casually, ignoring the burned sensation of my mouth. 

"Getting coffee, dumbass. It's a coffee place," Ymir says dryly before turning to Christa. "Babe, sit down while I go get our treats." 

She then stalks off, towards the counter, while her girlfriend sits across from me. "You don't mind us sitting here, do you, Marco? We can sit elsewhere," she says in her soft tone. 

"Nah, it's good," I say. 

And it is. Ymir can come off as... well... a total bitch. You just have to learn to distinguish when she seriously hates you or not. With Christa, she's a total sweetheart, of course. That's still weird to watch. Christa and I chatter randomly. She's always easy to talk to. Ymir returns, with muffins and drinks. I ask them what they got. 

" _Blood_ red velvet muffins and black coffee, to match my soul," Ymir deadpans. 

"French vanilla cappuccino!" Christa pipes in after chuckling at my cousin.

"And how did you guys find this place?" I ask

"It's a Canadian café, and so it makes Christa feel at home," Ymir says. Right, Christa is from Canada. I can't remember if Armin was born there or not. 

"Yeah, it's huge back in the old homeland. Everyone goes there," she informs me with a smile.

"I can see why. We should all just move to Canada," I say, earning a giggle from Christa and a smirk from Ymir. 

I hold out my cup. "To free healthcare and gay rights," I say dramatically, while bumping my cups against theirs. 

"So, baby Marco, any ladies in your life?" Ymir asks suddenly, while leaning against the booth and casually sloping an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders. "Or gentlemen?" she added swiftly with a sly grin. 

I narrow my eyes. 

"Have you been talking to Bert?" I demand. 

"Maybe, maybe not. Answer the question, nerd." 

Christa sips her cappuccino whilst trying to conceal her amusement. The two of them were in on this! My cousin was corrupting the pure angel at her side. I wanted to weep. I also wanted to blush. 

"No," I say shortly before taking a gulp of my coffee, which had just arrived at the finest temperature made for coffee. Ymir and Christa exchange glances. I scowl.

"Do tell, baby cousin," Ymir presses. She's enjoying this far too much. 

"Don't call me that, I'm an adult. And there's nothing to talk about," I insist as I snap Timbits into my mouth, teeth sinking down into those soft, little pillows of heavenly, sugary goodness. 

"Marco, I swear to God, if you don't tell me about this goddamn boy, I'll tell everyone about your 7th birthday." 

I stop, mid-chew. "You wouldn't." 

"Oh, I fucking would and I fucking will."

Soft laughter rings in my ears, drawing my attention to Christa. My face flushes in embarrassment. "You told her?" I hiss. Ymir just shrugs. 

"Uuguhughghgh..." I moan, grabbing my coffee cup and staring into it's half empty contents. "I just have this really hot neighbor and we saw each other at a party last night and he seemed great but he turned out to be an asshole who just wanted to get in my pants. End of story." 

"You sure he wasn't just drunk?" Christa asks. 

"It wasn't just that. He's just not as into me as I thought," I say with a shrug. I mentally kick myself for thinking that he might have actually liked me. I mentally kick myself again for pitying my self. Get over it, Marco. 

"Aw, my poor baby," Ymir says, thought she doesn't actually sound empathetic. I'm not even sure if she's capable of that. I roll my dark eyes.

"Well, nice talking to you two, but I'm gonna go home and sleep off this hangover," I say after eating the last Timbit and taking the last mouthful of sweetened coffee. I stand up. 

"Bye, Marco. Lovely seeing you, we should hang out sometime," Christa suggests sweetly. Ymir only nods before whispering something into her girlfriend's ear, making her laugh. Whatever, I don't care what they're talking about. I toss my garbage out, and head towards the exit. Pushing the door open, I leave the coffee shop and walk down the street, towards my road. My apartment building is almost directly across from the street that I'm on. Upon reaching it, I enter and jog up the stairs to my floor. Sauntering down the hall and reaching the end, my eyes flicker towards the door across from my own. I wonder if Jean is home yet.

Grumbling to myself, I pull out my keys and unlock the door before moving inside and closing the door behind me. 

 

~ 

 

A few days pass without much excitement. I spend my time working small jobs and lazing about the house. Watching TV. Sleeping. 

Armin calls me one day, hoping to hang out with some people this in two weekends. I tell him that he can crash at my place. He thanks me. We talk about his school, my work. Social life. He made a new friend, Eren or something. I don't tell him about Jean. There's nothing to tell. 

Connie calls too. He says we should hang out soon, and I agree. He rants about the night of the party, how amazing Sasha had been, how they cuddled and did lame romantic things. I tell them I woke up on the floor next to the bed they were in and he laughs, sounding vaguely embarrassed. We make plans to hang out on the weekend when we're free, with Armin too. And other people. Connie says he'll organize a group hangout. I tell him it sounds fun. 

Mom calls too. She asks about how I'm doing, says she worried about me, hopes I'm okay. I ask and say the same things to her. We speak for a while. My sister Mina is dating someone, apparently. Mom is happy about it, but also nervous. I tell her not to be, that Mina's growing up. That comforts her, it seems. 

It's about a week since the party when it happens. 

A boisterous sound pulls me from my sleep, my tired eyes greeted by darkness. My muscles are sore from a hard day of working on Levi's backyard. It's not complete, but apparently he has other people to put the finishing touches. But either way, Bert and I leave with sweaty clothes and a good paycheck from our boss. Swiveling my neck, I glance at the clock. 1:57am. The hell was that, anyway? I slide out of bed, wearing nothing but my Halloween boxers. They're black with tiny white ghosts. Spoopy. I then open the door to my bedroom, which leads to a miniscule hallway which leads to the living room. 

I hear mumbling. My body tenses and my heart races. Did someone break in? 

I reach the living room and find someone laying face down on the carpeted ground right beside my sofa. As if he tried so hard, but just couldn't make it. The duo-toned hair is a dead giveaway, and I don't need the confirmation when his face turns towards me. 

"Jean?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim Hortons IS the best place in the world and now we know why Christa is such a goddess (hint: it's because she's Canada)
> 
> I can't remember if I stated the floor that Marco lives on before, so I just made it 2nd floor.
> 
> Okay chapter, ending was good. Hopefully the next will be better.


	5. (Marco) Truth Serum

Shock. The word is not enough to describe the cold feeling that floods through my veins. It freezes my heart. Hums in my brain. There is no way I ever could have predicted a situation like this. 

I take careful steps towards the still body lying on the beige carpet of my small living room. Bending my knees, I crouch beside him. Lay a hand on his shoulder. Shake him slightly. Whisper his name in a quiet, questioning voice. 

"Jean? Jean, what are you doing? Jean? Are you okay?" 

He seems so unresponsive. It worries me, for a darkened moment. The alcoholic aroma emanating from his physique is powerful, attacking my senses. How drunk is he? He does end up acknowledging me, reacting to my voice. My words. His lips part and he produces sound. Nothing sensible though. His vocals make me think of an infant, rambling on in baby language. Finally he forms real words. 

"Huuhhh...? Mmmmarco-ohhhh. Whatareyou doooooing atmy houuuuuuse?" he questions. His voice is beyond slurred. It's an inconsistent staccato of varying pitches and speeds, nearly impossible to analyze and understand.

"Jean, you're at my house," I respond softly, before tightly gripping his shoulders and helping him sit up. I lean him against my coffee table, and his head lolls around, like his neck can no longer find the strength to support his head. I stare at him. The bags around his bloodshot eyes. The messy, greasy hair. The sharpened cheekbone, freshly bruised with an explosion of purple and green and red and blue and dark gray. 

"Ohhh? Well, howwww abouuuuut that. How the hell did me get here?" he questions, I think. His words are all chaotic and mixed up.

"I don't know, man. Guess I left my door unlocked?" I say uncertainly. How else could he have gotten in? He can barely walk or talk, for Christ's sake. He grins stupidly at me before resting his hands on the ground, like he's going to stand. One hand grips the coffee table, and he drags himself up. My hands instantly go to his waist when he begins leaning forward, unstable. He's determined to stand though, so I help him. I'm practically holding his weight, so I drag him around the small table and to my pinkish orange sofa. I release him and allow him to fall backwards and onto it. He slumps against the back.

"I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" I say. Without really waiting for him to respond, I head to the kitchen, flicking on the lights on my way. 

I grab a plastic cup, because I didn't buy expensive glassware because I have no money. I fill it with cold tap water and rummage my drawers for a straw. I don't really trust Jean to drink out of a cup without making a mess. Finding the disposable straws, I sink one into the water and return to the living room. 

I sit next to him on the sofa, and hold the cup out to him. Instead of taking it into his hands, he just wraps his lips around the straw and sucks in the cool water before pulling away and smacking his lips. 

"Merrcciii beaucouup, man. Good, good," he mumbles, grinning at me. I notice the random French thrown into his words. I suppose I shouldn't be terribly confused, given his name. 

I set the cup down on the coffee table, away from Jean, before I turn to look at him. 

"What are you doing, Jean? What's going on?" I ask. I figure no one get's this drunk without a reason.

"Nothing man. Nothing at alllll," he says, extending the 'l' sound. I can see his tongue curving up to his front teeth. He has really straight, white teeth. 

"Liar." 

"Donnn worry 'bout it, okieee? But like, while I'm here. Drunk. I might as well apologize. For being, you know. Asshole. To you. That nuit." 

More French, I think.

The inebriation affects his voice in different ways. First it's slowed mumbles, then it's choppy sentences. Like each word requires great cognitive process. And even though he's hammered, his apology pleases me. 

"Oh. Thanks. I forgive you," I say, even though I'm not sure that I do. 

He exhales in what I perceive to be relief. "Great man, I felt really bad. Really bad. Really bad. I mean, I usually don't. Don't. But, you seem so nice. Like. Jesus. Freckled Jesus. Freckled Jesus."

Now he's repeating himself. He laughs at his own nickname for me. I think it's dumb.

"Do you sleep around a lot, Jean?" I ask, even though it's not my business. Even though I don't care. At all. 

He nods. Several times. For like a minute, I swear. 

"Why?" 

He throws his head back against the headrest of the sofa, sighing loudly and dramatically. 

"Well... Like... Je ne sais pas, maannn. I guess I just. Don't date. Because like. I know no one will ever. Love me. And whatever, I'm okay with that. I wouldn't love me. Why would someone else?" 

I blink. His words catch me by surprise. I wasn't really expecting him to pour his heart out. To expose himself. And I didn't expect him to have such a low self esteem. 

"What makes you think that?" I ask softly. 

"Well, like. Ma mere... My mother left me. When I was. Like, 12. Alright? 12? 12. And my dad... He never fucking wanted me. I was an accident. Mistake. Merde. Fucking hated me. Total asshole. Who... Who does that to their kids?" he says, his voice growing weaker and quieter with each choppy word. His bloodshot eyes become glossy, and I fear he might cry. 

Before I can speak, he continues. 

"And I meaaaaaaan. Maman didn't love me... My own mother... And my father... Obviously something... Wrong with me..." 

He sniffles, looking sideways to meet my gaze. 

"What... What did your father do, Jean?" I whisper. I see the way my question effects him. His eyes darken, his cheeks grow taut from clenching his teeth. 

"H-he... Said the worst shit to me... Total jackass.... Beat me bloody, one time. For eating his pizza. Couldn't go to school for a week, or people would know," his voice only comes out in shaky, slurred whispers. The barriers break. Crystalline tears stream down his cheeks and he looks away from me. 

He doesn't cry aloud. No sobbing retching through his body. Just silent tears. 

I slide closer to him. Wrap an arm around his shoulders. He responds instantly, leaning into me, pressing against my side. I turn my body slightly, to wrap my other arm around him, so he's leaning against my chest. His forehead is leaning against my neck, his hands resting on my chest. I recall that I am, in fact, half naked. Oh well, too late to do anything about it.

I expect him to break down. It just feels like something that would happen. You hold in the real crying until someone shows you some kind of kindness and it just weakens you. But he doesn't. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It worries me. Like maybe he's just broken down too many times to do it again. Like maybe he just doesn't feel it anymore. Like... I don't know. 

I sit there for a while, holding him. Trying not to be weird. Like should I stroke his hair or his back or something? I don't really know how to handle people in these situations. He seems content though.

Eventually, he pulls away, smiling weakly. 

"Can... Can I stay here? Just. Just tonight. I don't wanna be... Alone," he mumbles quietly. 

"Sure... Sure man, I'll get you a blanket," I say, nodding. I stand up and he stretches out over the couch. I head to my room and fish out a small blanket from my closet before returning to the living room. 

Jean is out cold. I smile. I turn him over so that if he throws up he won't choke on it, and toss the blanket over his sleeping body. Then I return to my room. I slip under the covers, sink into the mattress, rest my head against my fluffy pillow. I close my eyes. 

I don't sleep well, as usual. But this time I have a reason other than loneliness. I can't stop thinking about Jean, what he went through as a child. He's probably way more fucked up then I even realize. 

What am I supposed to do? 

I drift in and out of sleep, barely catching more than a few hours throughout the whole night. My mind is plagued, tormented. Just as Jean was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA what's wrong with me. 
> 
> French Translations  
> Merci beacoup: Thank you very much/Thanks a lot  
> Nuit: Night  
> Ma Mere, Maman: My mom, Mother  
> Merde: Shit
> 
> Did I end it too abruptly? and should I make the body more detailed?


	6. (Jean) Miserable Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay short chapter but yeah. Sorry I haven't been updating very much, super busy. I WILL keep going though, even if it's kinda shitty.

The clanking of pots and pants steals me from my morbid slumber, from my nightmares of tears and screams. Exhaustion clouds my mind, my vision, but I'm grateful to have escaped the torment of sleep. My head throbs in agony, the familiar ache of a hangover pooling into my stomach and making me nauseous. I sit up, a thin blanket sliding off of me as I glance at my surroundings. 

Similar to my own apartment in structure and design, but different in personal touches. I don't have a pink couch or pictures frames on the wall. Where am I? 

It takes me a moment of barging through my groggy mind before I recall. Last night I was so hammered I went to Marco's house instead of mine. I can't remember happened, why he didn't bring me home. It doesn't feel good though. A sense of foreboding nerves bubble uncomfortably in my abdomen and suddenly I think I'm going to hurl. I burst up and sprint to the bathroom and I know where it is because my apartment is pretty much identical. Thank God, or I might be throwing up all over Marco's carpet. 

I slide to my knees across the bathroom floor and reach my arms around the toilet bowl before I'm spewing vomit into it. Lovely, just lovely. My body wretches disgustingly, my throat burning from the actions and from the acid. 

"Jean? You okay?" I hear a soft voice, quiet footsteps. In the corner of my tawny eyes, I see Marco appearing in the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh... I'll get you some water," he offers, sympathy hinting in his big, brown eyes. Where the fuck did he get off being that fucking nice what the ever-living fuck. 

What the hell did I ever do to deserve his kindness? Was it when I raged at him for not letting me fuck him? Perhaps it was when I broke into his house and crashed there? I sigh, feeling like shit, as I sit down on my ass in front of the toilet bowl. I'm done though, I've expelled everything humanly possibly from my stomach. 

Marco returns with a glass of water. It feels like deja vu as I accept it and down the glass. While doing so, Marco rummages through the bathroom cabinet before pulling out a bottle of minty mouthwash. I take it, standing up, and pour some into my mouth after flushing the toilet. The mint game strong. So strong that my eyes burn. After swishing it around my mouth, I spit it into the sink and glance at Marco. 

"Thanks... And sorry. About like, invading your house and throwing up and all that shit," I mumble, running my fingers through my duo-toned hair and feeling awkward. I mentally slap myself for looking like a shy idiot, but he just smiles. Why the hell isn't he angry with me? He has every goddamn right to be and we both know it, so what the fuck is he playing at? 

"I made some breakfast. I don't know if you're hungry, but you're welcome to eat," he says before turning around and heading down the hall, to the kitchen. I follow him. Although my stomach still feels shaky, I realize I may not have eaten in a while and the least I could do is have some toast or some shit. 

Kitchen smells good as fuck. Seriously, Marco made the works. Well, as much as a 20-something year old single man can do. He has scrambled eggs, toast, sausage, cheese, fruit, milk, and cookies. He turns and hands me a plate, which I take, before going about to fill his own. I follow suit, plopping only a small amount of eggs onto my plate. I also grab a slice of toast, and the rest is on the table. I nibble at the cheese and fruit, before salting my eggs and buttering my toast. I avoid the greasy-looking sausages, though. I slowly eat. 

"This is... really good... Thanks," I mumble, feeling awkward as I finish off with a cookie dipped in my milk. Marco chuckles at that.

"You're welcome, Jean."

Something has been sitting impatiently in the corner of my mind, waiting to be voiced. "M-Marco? Did I... Did I say anything last night? Anything odd?" 

My voice is shaky and nervous. Marco looks up at me, a piece of toast in his mouth. He looks uncomfortable. Shit.

"W-what do you mean?" he asks, trying to sound casual. 

It scares the fuck out of me because there's a lot of shit that I could have told him last night, drunk off my ass. I shake my head. "Never mind, buddy. Thanks for takin' care of me and all. I should head back," I say before standing up out of the chair and awkwardly rubbing the shaved side of my head before I turn away. 

"O-oh. Bye, Jean. Have a nice day," he says, not moving from his seat at the table.

Then I do something stupid. I turn around to face him. 

"Marco? Do you wanna... Hang out sometime? I-I know I was a jerk to you the other night but... I don't know, man..." I stumble through my words, feeling like a bumbling idiot. Why the hell would Marco want to actually spend time with an asshat like myself? And why would I even want to hang out with him, anyway. He could know my darkest secrets and besides, we're nothing alike. I glance uncomfortably at Marco, who blinks in surprise. 

"Uh. Sure, Jean. Sounds fun," he says and hands me his cell phone, before continuing with his buttered toast. I quickly add my number to his contact list. 

"'Kay. I'll talk to you soon, then," I say before officially heading towards the front door. Well, the only door, actually. I hear his soft farewell from behind as I close the door behind me and return to my apartment. 

A few hours later, Marco texts me so that I can add his number to my own contact list. I put his name as 'Freckled Jesus' because it seems to suit him nicely.

 

~ 

 

It takes me a few days, but I finally decide to call Marco for a hangout. He picks up on the fourth ring. 

"Jean?" 

"Hey, man. You wanna hang out on Saturday? We could do lunch or something," I suggest before pausing. That doesn't sound like a date, right? Nah. 

"Oh. I have work. I could do dinner, though." 

Dinner? That is... Not date-like at all. Nope. "Sure... I'll, uh, pick you up," I say with a chuckle. He laughs as well. 

"Okay, sounds good. Look, I'm in the middle of playing a game against Connie and if I don't beat his ass I gotta buy him drinks. Talk to you later?" 

"Sure, Marco. Good luck. 

He hangs up, so I do too. Now I gotta figure out what we should do this weekend. Basically, I'm not good at being a friend and I have exactly -2 ideas. Seriously, I don't even know where to go for dinner. So, I call a social expert. 

"Hello?" 

"Reiner? Dude, I need your help." 

"Jeanbo?" he questions in his low, grumbling voice. I can hear the surprise in his grinning tone. 

"Don't fucking call me that!" I practically shout into my phone. He knows I hate it. 

"Alright, shithead. The fuck do you want? I'm trying to get ready for a date." 

Wow. So he's really doing the whole boyfriend thing with Bert. Good for them. Suddenly I feel embarrassed about my situation. Surely Reiner isn't going to make any stupid assumptions? Who am I kidding, this is Reiner Braun, of course he will. I sigh. Too late to go back now, I suppose. 

"Look, I'm trying to be friends with Marco and I don-" 

The asshole cuts me off. 

"Marco? Cute guy, wears pastel, smiles a lot? Jeanboooo, you gotta thing for Marco Bodt? You guys gotta date coming up? Oh, baby, you called the right guy. I have so many ideas for you, man. Take him dancing, lots of candles at home, make some-" 

Now it's my turn. 

"REINER, SHUT THE FUCK UP! Wait, candles? No, fuck, we're just hanging out. As _friends_ , dipshit. What's a platonic thing to do with a dude you barely know?" 

__He only chuckles at me, in this knowing sort of way. The fuck does he know, anyway?_ _

__"Alright, man, calm your tits. Okay, let's see. Marco probably hates cliches, so avoid theaters and and fancy restaurants. I don't really know him all that well, though. You should just ask him what he likes. Maybe just go get some pizza and hang out at that park a few blocks west, you know it? Yeah. And then, I don't know, just walk around with him. Explore the city. There's a cool vintage music store with records and shit. I dunno man, talk to him."_ _

__"Sounds good, Reiner. Thanks man. Have fun on your date," I say._ _

__"You too, baby."_ _

__"IT'S NOT A DA-" he hangs up. I glare.__

For the rest of the day, I clean up around my apartment and workout a little bit before going to bed early. My final thoughts before slumber swallows me are of pastel green and music records.


	7. (Marco) Definitely Not A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cdn12.lbstatic.nu/files/looks/small/2013/05/15/3039923_OOTD_130514_0436Lookbook.jpg?1368590376 I guess this is kind of what Marco is wearing.
> 
> Some of the writing seems kind of weird because I slipped into past tense and tried to fix it so sorry about that.
> 
> SO MUCH BLUSHING too much? maybe idk

It's late afternoon when I get back to my apartment on Saturday. Bert and I, official partners in the landscaping business, did a small, routine job today. It was pretty basic; a small garden in need of floral and stone statue embellishments. After taking a quick shower, I head to my room. The best thing about living alone is that I don't have to bother with walking around in a towel, I'm free to go around naked as I please.

Honest to God, I take like 15 minutes choosing what to wear. I have no idea how formal it is or where we're even going. Its stupid, I know. But even though Jean has proved himself as the opposite of boyfriend-material, I still want to impress him. He said he liked me in pastel and that's most of my wardrobe anyway. He might have been lying to get in my pants though. 

In any case, I slide into a pair of dark blue pants, a light blue, button-up shirt, and a pastel pink blazer and damn I look good. In the past few weeks, I can tell I've lost a little bit of weight. Not much, but enough for me to notice. I guess my job _does_ require a fair amount of physical exertion. Not to mention that I've been eating less food (I can't really afford a lot of excess junk food right now).

Before leaving the room, I spritz just a small amount of my old cologne along my wrists and neck because even if this is a casual thing, I feel like being classy. I've been wearing too many sweaty muscle shirts and jogging pants for work, and I feel like I rarely have a reason to look good. 

I then head to my small bathroom where I gently run my fingers through my damp, black hair, creating a stylishly messy sort of look. Now, I don't really know when Jean will be at my door, so I just slump over the couch and watch White Collar for a while. This show is getting so fucking intense, for real. Neal and Peter are giving me some gay vibes. 

Just when I'm getting into this episode, I hear a loud series of knocks at my door. I open it and Jean and I just kind of look at each other. 

He's wearing straight, light blue jeans, a red V-neck shirt that shows off hints of his nice collar bones, and a black leather jacket with silver zippers. He clears his throat. 

"Rocking that pastel, again," he remarked, referring to my blazer. I smile. 

"Yep. Rocking that punk look, I see," I say in response. Now he smiles, though he looks kind of awkward about it. 

"So... I didn't really know what you wanted to do so I figure we could just go get some pizza and hang out at this park a few blocks away. Or just kind of walk around. Sounds kinda lame, out loud," he says, chuckling kind of nervously as he raises a hand to rub the shaved part of the back of his head. 

"Nah, sounds good. I feel kind of dressed up, though," I say, fishing for his opinion. I'm silently debating on whether I should change or not. 

"What? Nah, man. You totally pull it off. The whole 'I look classy and formal on a casual day' thing," he says, sounding sincere. 

"Good to hear," I say with a grin. "Let's go then?" 

He nods and I step outside, closing the door behind me. We walk down the hall and Jean pulls out his cell phone before asking, "What kind of pizza do you want and how much can you eat?" 

"Uh, I like cheese and meat lovers, so either is good. I could probably eat like, almost a medium. Or half a large," I say uncertainly. 

"Hmmm," Jean murmurs. "How about I get a meat lovers and a cheese medium, and if we can't finish those off then we have some leftovers for lunch tomorrow?" 

"Sure. You like cheese and meat lovers, too?" I ask, smiling at the coincidence. 

"Yeah. Well, I can literally eat any kind of pizza in the world, but those are the best. I swear, I'm part Italian. And pasta. Next time we should get some pasta and garlic bread or some shit," he rambled. 

Next time? 

I watched him go through his list of contacts until he found the pizza number. I laughed quietly at the idea that he had the pizza place number in his phone. 

"What? I eat a lot of pizza!" he snorts before directing his voice to the receiver. "Yo, Marlow. Can I get a medium cheese and a medium meat lovers? ... Yeah ... Yeah, that's fine ... No, it's not all for me, dumbass! ... Whatever ... Sure, see you soon, man," he said before hanging up and chuckling. 

"You even know the pizza guy?" I ask incredulously. This guy takes his pizza seriously. Jean glances at me, snorting. 

"Yeah, I know the pizza guy. I nailed him for like, two months." 

I blink and feel my cheeks warm slightly as the image of Jean fucking some dude floods into my mind. "Were you guys dating, then?" 

"Yeah, I guess you could call it dating. Mostly just fucked around though," he said with a shrug as he slipped into the elevator with me following behind. 

"Why did it end?" I ask before mentally kicking myself. I hope he doesn't take offense to my curiosity, or that he doesn't think I'm overly interested in his sex and romantic life. 

"Eh? Oh, he wanted something more serious and I didn't. He's dating someone else, now. Can't remember who. Think it's a girl named Hitch. Oh, wait, no he hates her. Maybe? I dunno." 

"Ah. Did it end on a good note then? You seem friendly towards him," I say softly as the elevator rested on the floor and we walked out. 

"Yeah, we're both cool. We don't hang out much, but I don't really hang out with people in general. Still talk to Marlow like once a week because I eat pizza that often."

When we step outside of the building and began walking down the slightly busy sidewalk, I am greeted by a cool breeze that tickles my skin and makes me frown. It's getting cooler with the growth of Autumn. If there were any trees in the streets, I imagine they would be full of fiery oranges and browns. For someone working in landscaping, this isn't the best news. Horticulture is kind of a seasonal job, and I won't be working much soon enough. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if I had been working long enough, but I'd only been at the job for a couple of weeks and didn't really have that much money saved up. 

"What are you thinking about?" Jean suddenly asks, and I blink up at him to see him watching me. 

"Oh... Just, works gonna be pretty low in a few weeks," I say with a shrug, as though it isn't a big deal. 

"Sucks man. You gonna be alright, financially?" 

His concern makes me smile in surprise. "Yeah, of course I'll be fine." 

He clears his throat and nods as he continue walking, Jean leading the way to the pizza shop. He rants about how it's the best pizza he's ever tasted and how if he ever goes to Italy he won't want to eat pizza because then pizza here will be unsatisfying. When I first met him, all grumpy and quiet, I couldn't picture him being as talkative as he is right now. It's a pleasant surprise. 

After a short while of walking in the cool afternoon, which I can feel slowly melting into evening, we arrive at the pizza place. I follow him inside and he slides up to the front counter, leaning on it and dinging the bell. A dark haired, tall male steps up from the kitchen and smiles at Jean, carrying two boxes of pizza. 

"Hey, Jean. Drinks?" he asks, and Jean looks at me. 

"I like Pepsi, but I'm not picky," I say, so Jean just nods at the guy that I assume is Marlow. 

He goes into the back and pulls out a 2L bottle of Pepsi and sets it on the counter along with the pizza while Jean hands him a few bills. 

"Hey, I can pitch in for the pizza," I say to Jean, stepping closer to the counter. 

"Don't sweat it man," he says, as he takes the change and slides it into his wallet. The dark haired employee smiles at me. 

"I'm Marlow," he says. 

"Marco," I say. I chuckle because not only do we hold similar features, but we also have a similar name. 

"Thanks man," Jean says with a grin to Marlow as he takes the boxes while I grab the bottle of pop. It's cold to the touch. 

"Have a nice date, you two!" Marlow says as we head out the door. 

"It-It's not a date!" Jean shouts over his shoulder and I can hear his ex laughing in response. I glance at Jean and his cheeks are a dark pink. Mine are warm and I figure they look pretty similar. 

We walk quietly down the street, Jean still in the lead. I don't actually know where this park is. 

"How long have you been living here?" I ask, trying to revive the conversation. 

"Ahh, 'bout half a year. You?" 

"Few weeks. Just about a month, I guess." 

"Oh, so you're actually pretty new? I'll have to show you around then," he says with a chuckle and I nod, smiling. We walk around, turning at a few blocks before we arrive at the park, talking about random likes like how I know Bert and how he knows Reiner (friend of a friend or something). The park pretty big, with a creek running through it and a few benches and some children playgrounds. There's no one there except for a couple on the bridge over the small river, and some dude walking his dog.

We head over to one of the picnic benches and take a seat before opening both boxes of pizza and digging in. 

Jean moans in bliss and it is borderline sexual, making me choke slightly on my cheesy slice of heaven.

"Jean thank you for this because I plan to eat this pizza everyday," I say seriously as I munch down on the pizza. 

He only laughs, grinning knowingly as he unscrews the bottle of Pepsi, which opens with a _hiss_. "Ah, I didn't get cups. You cool with sharing the bottle?" he asks casually. 

"We made out? I think I can handle sharing a bottle with you," I say without thinking. I blink and feel myself blushing again, just lightly. His reaction is similar and we just stare at each other for a few moments before we both burst into awkward laughter. 

"God, thanks Marco. Now this is weird," Jean snorts as he grabs the bottle and chugs down the fizzy beverage. 

"Not my fault you attacked me in my drunk and vulnerable state! And how can you just chug pop, it makes my eyes water." 

He chokes and puts the bottle down, coughing. His blush is reddening. He speaks before I can question it. 

"I drink so much alcohol I'm immune to the power of fizz," he says dramatically before shoving pizza into his mouth. 

"Why were you choking then?" 

"Whaahh, 'm nah peffeccc!" he mumbles through the pizza in his mouth. 

I roll my eyes, burning with curiosity as we dig through the pizza. In the end, we finish both and Jean tosses the boxes in the nearby garbage bin. 

"Aren't you suppose to recycle that shit?" I ask with a chuckle. He just shrugs his shoulders. 

"I'm a badass, Marco. Badasses don't fucking recycle," he said as he wanders off. Grabbing the bottle of Pepsi, I follow him to the playground. He climbs up and sits at the top of one of two slides that are beside each other. He then pulls something out of his pocket, and from that, a small, white stick. 

"You're gonna smoke on a playground?" I ask. Did this man know no shame? He just gives me a side glance, grinning slyly as he pulled out a black lighter and lit the end of his cigarette before taking a long drag and breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"Ahh, that hits the spot," he murmurs before glancing back at me. "Want one?" 

"Sure," I say and he hands me a cig before sliding the pack back into his pocket. I place the filtered end in between my lips and Jean moves his lighter towards me. Before I can grab it, he's flicking open the flame and lighting the cigarette for me. I inhale, allowing the embers to breath and expand as I watch Jean and he watches me. 

"Thanks," I say, before slowly letting the smoke trickle from my lips in a steady exhale. My throat tickles and itches, but I hold in a cough. It's been a while, I guess. I wash it down with some Pepsi, which is almost gone. 

"No problem," he says with a grin. We sit there together, at the top of the slides, staring out at the park, silently smoking. The scent of tobacco fills my nostrils, the taste clinging to my tongue. After a while, our cigarettes are down to the butt and we kill them against the floor of the playground.

I'm not sure how long we sit there, breathing in fresh Autumn air and drinking Pepsi, but suddenly the park is blanketed in a comforting darkness. The street lamps provide a small glow of light. 

"Should probably get going," Jean remarks softly, looking over at me. I nod and push myself slightly so that I slide down the slide. 

"Haven't done that in a while," I say with a chuckle. 

"Same," he laughs as we start heading home. Passing a garbage, I toss the empty bottle in. 

"So... You wanna come over for a bit before you go home?" I offer, after clearing my throat. He glances up at me in surprise, like he didn't expect me to want to extend our hangout. He smiles and nodded. 

A while later we're standing in the elevator, before stepping out and walking down the hall. 

"I was in the middle of watching a TV show. You wanna watch that?" I ask and he just shrugs and nods, not asking what show it was. It could have been Say Yes To The Dress for all he knew. I grin and unlock my door, before stepping in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned Marco's weight a few times, but it's not going to turn into anything yet. Do you guys think an eating disorder would improve the plot, or does Jean have enough issues for that?
> 
> also you guys wanna know why Jean was choking on his pepsi? He was thinking of something else he could put in Marco's mouth that would make his eyes water. Face fucking, he thought of face fucking.


	8. (Marco) Coconut Kisses

Jean follows me into of my apartment and heads right to the living room, slumping over my coral-coloured couch and grinning lazily back at me. I roll my dark eyes at him. 

"Make yourself at home," I say, and he chuckles. "You want anything to drink or eat?"

"Got any booze?" he asks. 

"Nah. Too expensive. I got Sunny D, though. It was on sale," I say with a smile. 

"Shit tastes good with coconut vodka!" he says before lunging off the couch and sprinting towards the front door. "I'll be right back!" he shouts over his shoulder as he heads out the door, not bothering to close it as he runs towards his own home.

I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen before opening my fridge and leaning down to peer inside. It's looking pretty scarce and pathetic. Guess I'll have to hit the grocery store soon. The thought of spending money on food makes me groan. I grab the jug of heavenly orange juice and set it on the table, while searching for clean cups. 

Yeah, I also kinda need to do the dishes. 

As I'm pouring the Sunny D into the tall glasses (which are basically beer cups), I hear Jean storm back into my apartment. I flinch slightly when my door slams. Either he couldn't find his vodka or he's too excited about it. 

"Marco? Where the fuck are you, dude?" I hear him call. Before I can respond, he finds me standing by the table where we had eaten breakfast a few days ago. He raises a tall bottle of clear liquid and shakes it, grinning. "Found it!" 

"Jean, I'm starting to think you're an alcoholic." 

"Marco!" he gasps. "I'm offended! I happen to have a mighty thirst, and not just for booze, might I add," he says with a playful grin. 

I laugh nervously. 

"So what are you? Gay? Bi?" I ask curiously as he unscrews the bottle. 

"Ehh, I don't really know. I'll bang just about anyone. Pansexual, I guess?" he says as he pours the vodka into one of the cups. He pours a lot, until it's filled to the brim before looking up at me. "You want some?" 

"Hmm..." I murmur to myself, eyeing the clear liquid. I guess I really haven't had anything to drink in a while, so why not? "Sure." 

Before I can tell him I much I want, he just pours in the same amount as his and grins up at me before sliding me the full come. I sip at it so it doesn't overflow and snort. Pretty strong stuff, you got there Jean. We carry our glasses over to the couch and sit down, leaving the juice and vodka on the table. I grab the remote and flick on the TV, scrolling through the Netflix that I've been mooching from Connie, until I find the episode of White Collar I was on. 

"So, Marco, what about you?" Jean suddenly asks. 

"Eh?" I ask, sipping at my coconut orange juice. 

"Where do you like to stick your cock?" 

I choke on the cocktail, almost spewing it from my lips. 

"Uh. I don't know. Bisexual I guess. Preference for dudes." 

I look over at Jean, who just grins at me, before glancing back to the TV. "Now, Jean, pay attention. This is where Neal makes a deal with an old rival to get out of trouble and help Peter..." I ramble on about the show, unsure of whether or not Jean is even listening. He watches though. 

After a while, both of our glasses are empty and Jean is heading to the kitchen to get us both refills. I hear him close the fridge, and assume he must have put the juice back. How nice. He comes back with two cups and sets them down, before leaving and returning with the bottle of vodka. 

"Might just finish this, tonight," he remarked, before setting it on the coffee table. 

We watch a few episodes, drinking orange juice and coconut vodka. Honestly, I can feel myself getting a little tipsy. I wonder if Jean has noticed. No doubt, I'm giggling and being stupid, as usual. 

"Shit, you're such a lightweight," Jean says with a bout of laughter as he sets his empty glass next to mine and picks up the bottle and begins drinking from it. 

"Shit, you're such an alcoholic," I shoot back, scowling. He just laughs again. 

"Too fucking true, man." 

"You swear a lot." 

"Yeaaaahhh." 

"Are you angry? Angry people swear a lot," I observe. He blinks at me with those tawney eyes. 

"Guess so." 

"Are you angry because of what your father did?" I blurt out before covering my mouth with my hands. It just slipped out! 

Truth be told, the whole incident had been replaying in my mind for some time. The incident that had happened only days ago. Despite my lightly inebriated mind, I can clearly remember the image of Jean laying face down on my floor. I remember him sitting on my couch, bent down as he sobbed at the memory of his shithead father. I remember holding him, trying to comfort him. I think about it an awful lot.

I hear him choke on his swig of vodka. "Wh-what? What the fuck do y-" 

"The other night. When you were at my apartment," I cut him off, too sheepish to look at him. 

"O-oh."

We sit in silence for a while, watching White Collar. I can hardly even pay attention anymore, though. Jean continues to gulp down his liquor, before handing it to me. I take it and drink it, wincing at the strength of it. It's very pure. I hand it back to him, but he doesn't drink. Just holds it in his hands. 

"Yeah. I am mad about that. Other things too, though," he mumbles after a while, not looking at me. 

"Is that why you drink, too? And sleep around?" I ask before I can stop myself. God, I will not be drinking in the future. I really don't need to be nosing into his past. 

"Guess ssso," he said with a shrug before he quickly downed the rest of the bottle of vodka.

"C'mon, Jeanbo, let's go do the dishes," I say randomly because I can't stop thinking about the mess in my sink. Standing up and grabbing the cups, I head to the kitchen and hear Jean follow me. 

"Don't fucking call me that!" he grumbles. 

"Jeanbo? Should I call you Jean _bro_ , instead?" I ask, before chuckling at my own joke. The way he looks at me, that horror in his bright, golden eyes, sends me into hysterics. I'm a giggly drunk, usually. I set the cups on the counter and lean against it, laughter shaking through me and bringing tears to my eyes. I feel something smack against my head and stare up at Jean, still chuckling. 

"Shut the fuck up, Freckles!" he insists before sliding to the sink and turning on the tap. He's seriously gonna help me with dishes? 

I reach across him and grab the dish soap, which, ironically, is coconut scented. I drizzle the milky white liquid all over the dishes and watch as the water splashes, creating bubbles. I move the tap to the second sink, for rinsing, before dipping my hands into the bubbly, hot water. 

With the dish sponge I scrub the dishes before sliding them into the boiling rinse water. Jean grabs them, unphased by the heat, and puts them in the drying rack. 

"This is so fucking domestic," he mumbles. 

"Hah?" I ask, confused. 

"Nothing," he responds. Okay, then. 

We finish all the dishes and dry our hands on the dish towel. Suddenly we're standing in the kitchen, awkward silence hanging over us until Jean's quiet voice cuts through it. 

"Kinda late. I should probably get home. Thanks for the Sunny Dick. I mean, Sunny D," he says, grinning stupidly as he walks through my living room, to my front door. 

"Ahha. Thanks for pizza," I respond, following him to the door. He opens it, and suddenly stumbles. Instinctively, I rush forward to catch him.

Suddenly, my arms around him and his chest is facing mine. Our faces are so close. This is such a cliche. My cheeks heat up, and it's not because I'm a little drunk. I can feel him, his body, against my hands. His arms feel hard with muscle. With the muscle that I know is there from the first time I ever saw him, sweaty from his work out. It makes me insecure. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that stupid fucking pizza. 

I watch Jean, watch his eyes flicker down to my lips which are so close to his. My mind is so slow I don't even notice him leaning in. Maybe he hadn't noticed, either. 

And his lips are on mine. It's chaste, and sweet. Our lips just brushing together gently, our eyes never breaking away from each other. Suddenly I'm forgetting about pizza and muscles. There's nothing but his lips, and the kiss isn't even deep or passionate. Just... soft. Hesitant. Wondering, and hopeful. I can just slightly taste the coconut on his lips, and the orange. 

Jean was right. That shit _does_ taste good.

He pulls his lips away and squirms out of my arms. "S-sorry, Marco! It just..." he trails off before quickly turning around and rushing towards his own door, just a few steps away. 

"J-Jean!" I call out, but he's already closing the door behind him. 

Just like that, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well now Jean thinks he fucked up and he's gonna hate himself for it. 
> 
> HAHAHAHA JEANBRO i'm hilarious and tired.


	9. (Jean) Bros and Budlight

Oh my God. Oh mY GOD. What have I done. I fucking kissed him. I fucking kissed Marco. I feel like he was just getting used to me and maybe moving on to forgiving me for being an asshole to him at that party. And then I went and fucking kissed him. I'm just an idiot. Why do I fuck everything up? 

After kissing him I ran to my own apartment, right across from his, and pushed my way into it before slamming the door behind me. Now, leaning against it, I press my palm to my forehead and let out a groan. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

I can't stop thinking about his lips. They were so soft and sweet, the hinting taste of coconut vodka and orange juice lingering. 

God, I'm acting like an idiot with a schoolgirl crush. Schoolboy crush, I suppose. 

Sighing, I step away from my front door and start tugging off my clothes as I head towards my bedroom. By the time I read it, I'm down to my black boxers. I fall willingly onto the bed, unsure of what the time is. Probably late though. I gotta work tomorrow. 

Despite the fact that I'm whining into my pillow about having to work, I actually don't mind my job. 

I work at a sort of clothing store that also contains accessories. We even do piercings there, but I'm not qualified for that. But the point is, we have exactly the kind of clothes that I like to wear, meaning that I get discounts on that shit. Plus we have a lot of band merch, and even TV merch. It's kind of like Hot Topic, I guess, but better. My manage is kind of weird. But what can you expect with a guy named Dot Pixis. 

There are only two shitty things about my job. 

One? Shitty customers. People whining about this and that and being little bitches. Grow the fuck up, don't treat me like trash because we don't sell All Time Low merchandise. 

Two? Shitty Eren Jaeger. Fucking piece of shit always gets on my nerves and always seems to have the same work shift as me. Dude has legit anger issues, has to go in for therapy. 

There is one good thing about Eren, though. His sister, Mikasa. 

Adopted sister, actually. She's smoking hot but adamantly rejects me every time I suggest anything with her. Breaks my fucking heart.

"Ughghgh," I moan, the sound muffled by my pillow. I'm gonna be so fucking distracted at work tomorrow. 

I reach for my phone, unable to fall asleep, and start checking random updates. At this point I'm so bored that I start flicking through my pictures and videos. Near the end I find a picture of Bert, looking laughably drunk. I'd forgotten to show him. Next is a video. Clicking it, I see Marco. Dancing. Like a white girl. I'd also forgotten about that. I chuckle softly. 

I guess I fall asleep at some point because I'm waking up to the blaring sound of my alarm. Rolling to my side I reach my hand out and smack it against my nightstand until I find my phone and turn it off. 

As I sit up, I make an incoherent sound of disgust and exhaustion before I slide out of bed to get ready for work. My head feels kind of blurry, but I don't really have a hangover, so that's good.

About half an hour later I'm stepping out the front door and I'm faced with Marco's. Right. I'd pretty much forgotten about that. 

Shaking my head, I just head down the hall and into the elevator. Once I'm in the lobby I walk outside and to the parking lot, where my beautiful bike is. 

It's a Hyosung, only a few years old. Sleek and shining black and my one true love. Baby's a fucking gas guzzler though, so I try to walk wheneverI can. 

Zipping up my leather jacket and slipping my full, black helmet on, I hop on and start her, revving her engine for effect. God, I love the way she thrums and vibrates between my legs. With that, I pull out of the lot and ride her down the road. 

It's not a terribly long drive to the mall, where my work placement is. Eventually I pull into the employee's parking lot. As I walk through the building, it's mostly vacant. It's not open to customers yet, of course. 

As I enter the small shop on the fourth floor of the huge mall, I look up to see Eren organizing some of the shit that customers fucked up the other day. People never fold clothes properly or put things back, it pisses me off.

He looks at me. "Kirschtein." 

"Jaeger," I respond gruffly, as is our usual greeting. 

Dot comes out from the back room having done his manager duties or whatever and grins at us. "Well boys, I'm off. Try to get along." 

Eren grumbles. 

"I will if he does!" I call after the balding man as he walks out, leaving the two of us to run the shop. It's not like we need three people working. Dot will probably be in and out though. 

The day is pretty average. A few fangirls and boys come in, ranting and raving about the band merch and crying because they don't have money. We do make a few sales though. Eren and I try to avoid ripping our claws into each other, but he's fucking hard to work with. He gets in my way and all up in my face. 

Finally the day fucking ends and customers begin to thin out as store hours begin ending. The moment arrives when it's time for Eren and I to clean up a bit. We have to wait for Dot, though, so he can close up everything. 

When I bend down to pick up a few stray shirts, I feel something bump into my hip and I jerk up, watching Eren walk by. 

"Watch where you going," I snap. 

He whirls around, glaring at me. "Watch where you're fucking standing, shithead!" 

"Fuck off, Eren. Just don't be an asshole, yeah?" 

"Don't call me a fucking asshole!" he shouts in response, stepping towards me. 

I push him away and his eyes narrow. I don't see his fist coming at me until it's connecting with my jaw. 

"Eren! Back off!" I hear a low voice instruct, and Eren does. 

Glancing up I see Dot, hands on his hips, staring with irritation at the two of us. Clutching my face, I part my lips to blame Eren because it really is all his fault. 

"I don't want to hear it, Jean. You both keep provoking each other for no reason. It's absolutely ridiculous and unecessary, and it's getting out of hand. If you two can't grow up, I'll find a couple of brats to replace you! Got it?" 

Guy has a way of putting the fear of God in my heart. Eren and I shoot sour looks at each other but we grumble in agreement. 

"Good, now get the hell out of here," Dot says. 

Neither of us waste much time. Grabbing my shit, I leave the shop and climb down the stairs because Eren is taking the elevator. Besides, the stairs are a good workout, and I've been slacking off in that area. 

Later on, when I'm home doing push ups in front of the TV, I get a call on my cell phone. Caller ID tells me it's good ol' Reiner boy. 

"What's up, man?" I ask, slightly breathless. 

"Not much. You wanna hang out with me and Bertie tomorrow?" he asks. 

"Uh? Sure?" I say in a confused tone. Now, Reiner is totally cool and all but I don't really do that kind of thing. Hang out. Be social. Except for parties. Marco is an exception because I feel bad for being an asshole to hime.

"Are you sure?" he asks, with a chuckle. "It'll be fun, we can go grab some drinks and burgers or something. Bert and I decided to conceive your currently non-existent social life." 

What? "So my social life is now your love child?" 

"You got it. Do you work tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, just a half shift, though. I'll be home around 1." 

"Alright, we'll pick you up." 

"Sounds good," I say, expecting him to hang up. He doesn't. 

"So... How was your date?" he asks. I can hear the grin in his voice. 

"GoddamnitReiner, it wasn't a date!" I shout into the phone, scowling at the TV, not that I'm paying attention or anything. I sit back onto the couch, which has some suspicious stains on it. 

"Yeah, but how was it?" 

"It was fine, you're so nosy." 

"What happened then?" 

"We just got pizza and hung out at the park. We watched some TV at his house, drank a bit." 

"And...?" 

"What? That's it," I say, blinking. How does this guy sense these things? Surely he doesn't know? Shit, did Marco kiss and tell? Fuck. 

"Liar. What happened? You get laid? Just kidding, Marco doesn't seem the type." 

"To have sex?" 

"Not on a first date." 

True that. He's definitely not the type to take sex lightly. Unlike myself.

"It wasn't a date!" 

"Fine, whatever you say, but what happened?" 

"Reiner!" 

"What happened, Jean? I will find out. Bert works with Marco, you know that right?" 

"I kissed him, alright? God, calm down. It's not a big deal!" I blurt out, cracking under the pressure. 

"Oh? What kind of a kiss? Short and sweet or was it like tongue sex?" 

"Short and sweet," I mumble, rolling my golden eyes. "Look, I'm not talking about this with you. I'll see you tomorrow," I say before hanging up. God, when will I catch a damn break?

I leave my phone on the couch as I get back to the floor and resume doing push ups until my arms and shoulders feel like they're burning. Good. Gotta stay in shape. 

 

~

 

The next day, after getting home and showering, I'm sitting on my couch, waiting, when I hear a knock at the door. I get up and open it, not surprised to see Reiner and Bert standing there. Holding hands. My eyes flicker down. 

"Cute," I remark, enjoying the fierce blush on Bertholdt's face while Reiner just shrugs. 

"You ready?" he asks, and I nod, stepping out. The two of us go down to the first floor and out the doors before getting into Bert's truck. 

"You gonna be the designated driver for us drunken bastards?" I ask the brunet from my place in the back seat. 

"Yeah. I gotta work tomorrow anyway," he says with a smile. So Marco is working tomorrow then? 

"Cool," I say as he pulls into a park beside the road, supposedly near a bar. We get out and head down the street, before stopping at the corner where the bar and grill is. I've never been there, but apparently Reiner and Bert have been there a few times. 

We all walk inside and a blond waitress approaches us. 

"Reiner! Bert! How are you guys doing today? Usual booth?" she asks, smiling. She's gorgeous. 

"Hey, Christa. That would be awesome. We're doing great! How about you? How's Ymir?" Bert responds for them as the small girl guides us to the 'usual booth.' 

"Ymir's good. Who's your friend?" she asks, smiling at me, as we all slide into the cushioned booth. I sit across from Bert and Reiner. 

"This is Jean," Reiner says with a grin. "Friend of Marco." 

Christa's eyes glint with recognition and she grins at me. "Really? That's cool. Marco is such a sweet guy. I'm dating his cousin!" 

Lucky cousin. And yeah, Marco is sweet. His lips are sweet. I swallow thickly and just smile at her. 

"What do you guys want?" she asks, handing us the menues and pulling out a small notepad. 

"We'll share the deluxe plate of fries and wings. I'll have iced tea," Bert says. They're sharing food? Well that's fucking adorable. So domestic. 

"I'll have a light Budlight," Reiner adds. 

While they talk, I skim through the drinks menue because I've already decided on what to eat. "Uhh, I'll have a Lime Budlight and a cheeseburger, no mustard, extra onions," I say, handing the menu back. 

She just smiles and says she'll be back with the drinks in a moment, and that the food will be a few minutes. 

While we're waiting, Bert and Reiner lean over the table and fold their hands together. But they sure as hell aren't praying. 

"So..." Reiner begins. 

"You and Marco..." Bert continues. 

Oh _hell_ no. I shake my head. Their cutesy little 'finish each other's thoughts and sentences' would not seduce me.

"C'mon, Jeanbo. Spill the beans," Reiner says. 

"Don't call me that! And there's no beans to spill!" I insist. 

"Tell us about the kiss!" 

"You told Bert?! Reiner, you treacherous fuck!" 

Reiner just smiles goofily and leans towards Bert, kissing him chastely on the cheek. Bert blushes lightly. "He's my boyfriend, of course I told him." 

Disgusting. I sigh. "It was just a kiss. A brief and meaningless kiss. We were both kind of tipsy." 

"Have you talked to him, since?" 

"Do you like him?" 

"Does he like you?" 

Oh my God, these guys are unstoppable. What's so interesting about my love life? Or lack thereof. 

"Guys, shut the fuck up. No, we haven't talked. And I-I don't know! No we don't like each other!" 

"You don't sound so sure!" Bert pipes up, looking sly. God, I thought he was a nice guy! Didn't know the bastard had it in him. 

"Guys shut up, okay. I don't _like_ him, I don't do that kind of thing. And I'm an asshole, so obviously he doesn't like me." 

"Why wouldn't you like him? He's super nice and cute. And you're not that bad. He might like you. You should talk to him. I can talk to him at work, if you want!" Bert offers, grinning. Reiner chuckles. 

"No! Fuck, don't do that. God, that would-" I'm interrupted by Christa who sets a tray of drinks in front of us and hands us what we ordered. 

We all thank her and smile and she wanders off to do whatever and I glance back at the men across from me. 

"You two can calm the fuck down about my love life, it's not-" 

"So you love him?" Reiner cuts in. 

"No! There's no point!" I blurt out, growing irritated. This is why I don't fucking like hanging out with people because everyone is an asshole. 

"No point?" Bert echoes in confusion. 

I just sip my beer, which has already been opened, and scowl. 

"Do explain. Or I'll go to Marco's apartment myself and talk to him," Reiner orders. "He lives across from you, right?" 

"Ughghghghgh Reiner! You jerkass!" I whined as I rested my forehead on the table before sitting back up. "There's no point because I'm an asshole and he's like Jesus so there's no chance he would ever like me. Satisfied?" I ask sourly before taking a large gulp of beer. 

"Damn," Reiner murmurs. Bert nods.

"You _are_ an asshole, apparently, but if anyone has the patience for that, it's Marco. You shouldn't hold yourself back because of that," Bert says and I roll my eyes. 

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, guys." 

They drop it. But I must have my revenge, so I pull my phone from my pocket and find that flattering picture before showing it to them. I watch as Bertholdt goes red, and hear Reiner laughing at him. 

"Okay, maybe I deserved that. Now put it away," Bert whines, so I do, grinning like the devil. 

I'm considering putting the picture on facebook when Christa returns with our food.

"Thanks," I say as she places the burger in front of me. Reiner and Bert thank her for the fries and wings, and I lean over and snatch a fry. 

"Thief!" Bert says, but I just shrug my shoulders. 

"So, you know Connie?" Reiner asks. 

"Yeah, sort of. Dating Potato Girl?" 

"Yeah, that's the one. You know where he can get a job? Poor guy needs some cash." 

I shrug. "Apparently we're firing some douchebag soon. He should apply to my place. I'll put in a good word," I say before taking a bite of my burger. Not too bad. 

"See? You're not totally an asshole, Jean!" Bert says with a smile as Reiner stretches an arm over his boyfriend's shoulder. I scowl. Fuck them and their fucking boyfriend shit. God, now they're nuzzling each other. Makes me fucking sick. 

Over all, it's not too bad though. We end up having a few good laughs. It's weird. To be out, having a few drinks (since Reiner and I order a few more beers) with some guys. Being a normal dude. It's nice, though. By the time they're dropping me off at home, they're saying that we should do it more often. 

I find myself agreeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably so many mistakes ahaha.


	10. (Marco) Pissy and Piss-Drunk

A few days have passed. I haven't spoken to Jean since he kissed me but I haven't stopped thinking about it. I'm annoyed. Annoyed at myself because I liked it and because I wanted more. And the worst part? We've been here. I haven't forgotten the party, soon after I met him. He was a total asshole and that's probably not the first time he's done something like that. Try to nail someone who's so drunk they can't even remember what a dick is. 

To be fair, he hasn't been too bad lately. But still! It's so stupid of me. 

And I mean, it's so painfully obvious. It's embarrassing. He clearly only kissed me because he was drunk. There's no way in _hell_ a guy like him would ever be into a guy like me. Not emotionally, anyway. I mean, he's cool and hot and I'm... well not. I'm not attractive or fit or fun to be around. Just me. Just plain old Marco Bodt. I hope Jean still wants to be friends with me, though. 

I guess that means I have to talk to him eventually. 

I lay in bed, on my back and staring up at the white ceiling of my bedroom as I ponder the depth of my situation. I think about what to say to him, how to approach him. I have to do this right. Just when I'm thinking about calling Jean, or going over to his place, my phone starts ringing. 

Leaping out of my bed, I begin rummaging through my messy room. I find my ringing phone under an old shirt that needs to be washed and answer it without bothering to check caller ID. I sit on the floor, wearing nothing but my boxers.

"Hello?" 

"Baby cousin!" Ymir's rough voice shouts into my ear, making me flinch slightly. "Can I come over for the night?" 

I blink my dark eyes in confusion. Now, I love my cousin but it's not like we do a lot of cousin bonding time. We used to hang out all the time, but then we grew up and just... ended up being too different. Besides, she started dating Christa and she's so fucking into her that she doesn't really hang out with me anymore. Except for parties.

"Uh, don't you have work?" I ask. 

"Nah, day off." 

"Well... I have work tomorrow, but if you want to come anyway then it's fine. Why, though?"

I hear her sigh dramatically. "Christa went to Canada for the week to visit family and I'm lonely." 

Ah. Well this is the most emotion I've detected in Ymir in ages, so props to Christa for warming my cousin's cold heart. 

"Ohh, poor baby. When are you coming?" I continue before I hear something in the living room. I hear Ymir hang up on me and groan as I walk out of the room and into the living room to see my cousin stepping through the front bag, carrying a large purse.

"Right now," she says with a sly smile. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a tall bottle. "Canadian whiskey! I brought your favourite. Oh wait... That's Christa's favourite." 

"Christa drinks?" I ask, genuinely surprised. Ymir nods. 

"Guess I'm a bad influence on that angel." 

"Well I can't drink, I got work tomorrow," I say apologetically even though I'm perfectly happy not drinking because I've been drinking way too much lately. 

"Oh, baby Marco, no no no. You _are_ drinking because I'm miserable and seeing you drunk will make me smile," Ymir says in a soft tone as she dumps her bag onto the ground and flops onto my couch and turns on the TV. She begins to unscrew the bottle and I roll my eyes. 

"Your happiness isn't worth my misery, sorry. I'm gonna put some clothes on," I say before returning to my room and tugging on some grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. Afterwards I go into the living room to see Ymir chugging down that bronze-coloured whiskey, and I seat myself next to her. 

"Got any porn?" she says casually as she hands the bottle to me. I grab it but don't drink it because I am a responsible adult. 

"Ymir! I'm not watching porn with you!" I respond after a small gasp of surprise. I shouldn't have been surprised though. Ymir has always been deaf on the socially acceptable. Always blunt and insensitive. 

"Gahh.. . .You're so boring, Marco. Drink up," she orders. 

"No." 

"Marco! I will fucking shove the whole bottle up your ass if you don't drink it!" she practically shouts and I secretly wonder whether she would or not. I sigh dramatically and loudly. Then I take a swig. 

Tastes like shit. But, you know, in a good way. It's spicy and clear and strong and burns in my nose and throat. 

"Attaboy!" Ymir says with a grin as she takes the bottle back before adding randomly, "Been thinking about cutting off my hair. You know, andro style." 

"You could pull it off," I remark sincerely. 

"I know," she says with a huff before she tips the bottle against her lips and allows the booze to flood into her mouth. 

"You're pretty dependent on her," I say. "Christa, I mean." 

"Well yeah, I fucking love her. Now shut up and fucking drink." 

I end up drinking. Plenty, actually. Far too much for someone who works tomorrow. Damn, I'm going to regret this in the morning. I feel dizzy and grumpy. Usually I'm a happy drunk, you know? Giggling at everything and hugging strangers. I guess since I was forced into this situation I'm showing a new side; pissy drunk. 

Good for Ymir because she thinks it's hilarious. 

"Marcoooohmygod. You're usually so fucking nice and perfect and angelic. Like Christa... I'm taking a video of this. No one will believe meeee!" she shrieks in a slightly slurred voice. She's pretty much fine though. She drinks all the time so I guess she's learned to hold her liquor pretty well. 

I watch as she pulls out her phone and clicks a few things before she's taking a video. I guess. 

"Ymir... Stahp. Donnnn't, you shit. Fuck offf," I hear myself say. Ymir just chuckles like the devil that she is. 

Our conversation wanders around. We talk about lots of things. Like the fact that Armin is coming to town, and how there's gonna be a party. I hope he crashes at my place for a night or two. We get along so well and I mean, he's so nice and fun. I miss that blondie. 

I'm not sure when Ymir passes out. Guess booze affects her more than she let on because half of her body is hanging off the couch and she's cuddling the pillow. With a swagger in my step... No, I mean stagger. I push her up. God she's heavy. Actually my arms just feel heavy. And numb. Groaning, I heave her body onto the couch before I stumble my way back into my room. 

I feel myself falling. It's okay though because the mattress is soft under me. My blanket is so soft. My pillows are so soft. 

I fall asleep with blurred images of Armin and thoughts of Jean's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty boring and shitty chapter, sorry. i might even like change/fix it. going to paris soon and won't update until I'm back (only about a week though) 
> 
> next chapter: armin and marco hanging out and talking about boys? and hanging out with other people too. maybe armin introduces eren to the group. armin x eren? maybe 
> 
> also I mentioned Marco with an eating disorder but that probably won't happen. i don't want too much misery. just body imagine/self esteem issues.


	11. (Marco) Morning Marco and Affable Armin

The next morning I wake up with the worst hangover of life. I purposely bumble around my apartment loudly so as to wake Ymir up because she doesn't deserve a peaceful asleep after getting me drunk on a work night. She's totally bitchy about it, but not nearly as much as me. 

"Whole new side of you, Baby Bodt. Where's that sweet boy everyone loves, hm?" she asks in a sour voice. I throw my dirty socks at her before getting dressed. 

"Do the dishes or don't be back when I come home," I retort bitterly over my shoulder as I stagger out of the front door and into the hall. As usual, I'm faced with the surface of Jean's door. Therefor, I'm faced with the internal debate of approaching him or giving him space. We still haven't spoken properly.

I just sigh and shake my head before adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder and dragging my feet down the hall. My head pounds as my feet do the same against the hard, gloomy grey steps as I jogged down to the lobby. Outside of the building, Bert's crappy green truck is waiting for me. 

Stepping towards it, I climb into the passenger seat and force a smile. Bert looks so chipper; I don't want to sour his mood with my hangover attitude. 

"Morning, Marco!" 

"Morning." 

"You don't look so good," he remarks as he ignites the engine and pulls out of the small parking lot. 

"Hangover." 

"Drinking last night? Not too smart of you." 

"Yeah, well, Ymir didn't really give me a choice. She's all mopey about Christa going north for a few weeks. And apparently Canadian whiskey doesn't agree with me. Tastes like moose piss." 

I see Bertholdt glance at me from the corner of my dark eyes and imagine his look of empathy. I also hear him chuckle. Looking over at him, I have the chance to really observe. He's wearing flannel shirt that looks like it's made of jean material, with the collar popped up. But above the rim of fabric, staring at his lightly sweaty skin, I see round bruises. Like coins of blue and red and hints of violet. 

"Oh, my boy Bertie getting busy last night?" I ask, playfully shoving him. Not roughly, because he's driving and I'm all about safety. I watch as he blushes and reaches up with one hand to cup his neck, hiding the hickies. "It's not nice to tease, Marco! You're not the angel everyone thinks you are," he whined. I just chuckle. 

"Yo, Armin's coming over this weekend. Wanna hang out? We should throw a party or something," I say. 

"Totally. Reiner's place would be good. I'll ask him."

"Sounds good." 

The rest of the day is unsurprisingly mediocre. Just a short day of minimilistic gardens for uncreative clients. It's late afternoon when Bert drops me off at the apartment building. After pulling myself up the stairs I push open the door to the hallway and feel something hard bump into me. 

With a small grunt of surprise, I withdraw and stare up.

Jean is staring down at me, his tawny eyes wide with surprise and his sharp cheekbones dusted with pink, like velvet rose petals. I clear my throat. 

"Ah. Hey, Jean," I say awkwardly. 

"Hey." 

We stand there for a few seconds, discomfort thickening between us until he slips passed me. 

"Well, I gotta go. See you around," he says. And he's gone. 

Will he see me around? He's totally been avoiding me. Sighing, I just head to my place. When I open the door, the warm smell of freshly baked pizza floods in through my nostrils. 

"Ymir?" I call out as I wander to the kitchen. I see an empty box of frozen pizza, and on top of the oven is the pizza itself. Cooling down, presumably. I stare at Ymir, who's sitting by the table. Her dark ponytail is a mess and she's wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The dishes are done, I notice. 

"Pizza's all I know how to make. Christa does all the cooking," she says with a shrug. She looks sleepy. She probably just woke up an hour or so ago.

"Good enough for me," I say as I pull a large bottle of Pepsi from the fridge and set it on the table. No need for cups. "How long are you staying?" 

"Just one or two days." 

"Okay. Because Armin is coming over for the weekend, and I don't have room for both of you in this shitty apartment." 

"I feel you. Armin's your blond nerd friend from nerd school, right, nerd?" she asks, with a grin. I roll my eyes. 

"Charming, but yes," I say as I retrieve my pizza cutter and slice large pieces before putting a plate of them on the table and sitting down, along with Ymir. 

We eat in general silence.

Living with Ymir isn't so bad, once you get used to her complaining and bitchy attitude and sloppy nature. She can actually be quite fun, if I'm being honest. I would never tell her that, of course. I'm almost, _almost_ , sad to see her ago after a few days. But alas, it's the weekend, and I need to set up arrangements for Armin anyway. I unfold the couch, with magically transforms into a decent but small bed. I add some pillows and an extra blanket. 

Just as I'm getting out of the shower on Friday evening, I hear a gentle knock at my door. Running a hand through my messy, wet hair, I pull open the door and see Armin standing before me. 

"Marco!" he says with a grin and leans in for a hug. I hug him back. 

"Good to see you, man. You look good in a pony tail," I remark, pulling away and stepping aside so that he can enter. He does, and sets his bag on the floor by the couch-bed.

"Thanks. Eren thinks so too," he says with a bright smile. 

"Right. Your new friend. How's that going?" I ask. 

"It's good. He's great, really. He's improving." 

"Improving?" I inquire as I watch him pull his stuff out of his bag to settle in. I sit down on the bed. 

"Oh, right. I guess I haven't said much about him," he begins before he sits down next to me and leans against the back rest of the couch. "I'm in a co-op placement at a mental institution. It's only for minor cases, really. People with atypical eating disorders, depression, anxiety. There's no one really dangerous there, usually. Eren's a patient, you see. Naturally angry meets post traumatic stress disorder. He's great though, his outbursts aren't so bad. He's doing well." 

"Wow," I say, truthfully interested. "Does he live there?" 

"Yeah. But he's allowed to come and go, most of the time. I was hoping he might come over some time, meet all my friends?" 

"Sure. Sounds great," I say with a smile before getting up and glancing at the clock. It's kind of late. I had a long day of work and Armin is pulling out books for studying, I presume. 

"Right. I'll leave you to it. I'm gonna go sleep, you make yourself at home, okay?" 

Armin smiles at me with his shining blue eyes. "Yeah. Thanks again, Marco. Sleep well." 

"You too. Need anything, just wake me up," I say, and he nods, even though he's too nice to wake me up anyway. With my lips stretching in a tired yawn, I head to my bedroom and tug off most of my clothes before flopping down onto the bed. Tomorrow is the party at Reiner's. I'm excited. I haven't really been out much lately, so I'm looking forward to a chance to kind of let go a little bit. And I think Armin will enjoy it too.

The next morning I wake up to the muffled sounds of running water and pots against oven surfaces, coming from another room. I blink my eyes open tiredly and sit up. What in the world is Armin doing out there? Sighing, I slide out of bed and put some old clothes on before making my way to the kitchen, where I see the little blonde mushroom making breakfast. 

"Aww, Armin, man you didn't have to do that," I say. Armin looks over his shoulder and smiles at me. 

"I wanted to. You know how awful I am in the kitchen, but Eren's been giving me some pointers. I'm putting them to use," he says before resuming to what appears to be scrambled eggs. Beside it, he's frying bacon in another pan. 

"Want me to make some toast?" I suggest, not that toast is really a great feat of gratitude. 

"Sure," he says, and I get to it. I place two slices in the toaster and retrieve margarine from the butter before setting it, along with two butter knives, on the small kitchen table. I grab some plates, forks, and cups as well and begin laying them down. 

"You want milk or juice? I also have coffee," I offer. 

"Hmm. Coffee, please. I've become such a caffeine junkie. Studies keeping me up all night," Armin says mournfully. 

"That sucks man. Hopefully you're not working yourself to death," I say as I make the coffee. 

In a few minutes, everything is prepared and we're seated at the table. 

"So..." I begin after a sip of my sugary coffee. "Eren." 

"Eren," he repeats with a shy smile. 

"What's up with him, then? You don't have to tell me, obviously. I'm just curious." 

"I don't mind. Well, a lot of people see him as just a delinquent with a hot temper. He's gotten into a lot of trouble in the past. But behind all that, he's actually very sweet and _unimaginably_ loyal. And determined. He's quite athletic as well, and smarter than everyone tends to believe. And he's holding up his job very well. He's... I mean, you know how I am with these things, right? I'm not usually interested in anything at all. But with Eren... I don't know. Maybe I'm just really excited to be his friend. Maybe I like him. I don't know." After his little ramble, he thoughtfully nibbled at some bacon. 

"Well, hey, it's okay to be uncertain. Spend more time with him, you'll know soon enough. I can't wait to meet him, though." 

"I'm glad," Armin says with a smile. 

The rest of the day is spent lazing about, before we get ready for the party and head to Reiner's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Paris, which was awesome. New chapter, yay. Next chapter will probably be something regarding Jean. Probably the next two with be about the party. 
> 
> Also as usual, I didn't edit this for shit so the grammar and shit is probably messed up.


	12. (Jean) Inebriated Expo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, check out the previous chapter because I added to it.

A few days ago, Reiner called me to invite me to a party. A friend visiting from college, or something. He seemed oddly vague about it, truth be told, but Jean Kirschtein does refuse free booze, no he does not. So here I am, getting ready in front of the bathroom mirror. It's nothing too formal, so I'm comfortable in a pair of slightly tight black jeans and a galaxy-designed bandshirt. I haven't worn this beauty yet, and look forward to showing it off tonight. Speaking of which, it's time to go. If I leave now, I'll be just fashionably late. 

Once I'm outside of the building and in the parking lot, I lean against my sleek bike and pull out a pack of cigarettes. I've been trying to cut back, I really have, but I'm slipping into the abyss of nicotine-addiction. I place one between my lips and light it with my zippo, which I'm very proud of, and take a nice, long drag. 

I sigh with content, before allowing the cancerous smoke to trickle from my mouth in delicate swirls. I feel a cool breeze tickle against my bare skin; my face, neck, my hands. I am glad for the shining, black leather coat surrounding my torso. Silently, I predict a particular harsh winter. 

I fucking hate winter.

Suddenly the embers have swallowed up the white paper and brownish tobacco of my cigarette, and I'm flicking the butt onto the pavement because I'm too cool to care about the environment. I hope onto my bike, place the black helmet over my head, and rev the engine beautifully before pulling out of the lot. 

Reiner's place is just out of walking distance, but only takes a few minutes on my bike. It's a townhouse sort of thing, shared with a few other people. 

I park my bike beside their house, hidden behind the large garbage bins because I gotta protect my baby. 

When I enter the house, I'm greeted by the soothingly familiar atmosphere of the party. Everything is alive. Drunken chatter mixed with beating music fills my ears. Shining lights and raised glasses meet my eyes. The scent of alcohol in my nose, and soon to be on my tongue as well. 

"Jeanbo!" I hear a voice call out from the crowd, and turn my eyes to see Reiner and Bertholdt approaching. Reiner his clearly already wasted and is leaning most of his muscular body on Bert, who looks sweaty and embarrassed. 

"Hey nerds. Don't call me that," I say good-naturedly. Reiner moves towards me and wraps his arms around me in a shaky hug that nearly sends me toppling. 

"Jean," he says, pronouncing it more like Gene to my great irritation, "We missed you so much." 

"Uh, yeah," I say. "Me too." 

I glance at Bert in confusion and he just shrugs. "Overdid it." 

Ah. 

"So, who's the special guest? I mean who is this party for?" I ask and Reiner stands up, only to fall backward against Bert. 

"Ahhh, that would be Armout. Just kidding, his name is Arm _in_... Get it?" the blonde says before laughing. I can hear Bert groaning in embarrassment. "He's in the living room. Let's go." 

And with that I follow the stumbling duo into the living room. Reiner, because he's hammered. Bertholdt, because he's practically dragging Reiner. They point to a small blonde boy who vaguely reminds me of a mushroom, later on, who must be Armin. He's not what I really notice though. Beside him on the couch is a familiar freckled face.

Marco fucking Bodt. He's wearing like, these pale purple pants that some how match his pale green shirt and what the fuck does this boy think he's doing.

He hasn't seen me yet, thank god, too busy talking animatedly with this Armin guy. They seem pretty fucking close, if I do say so. Reiner staggers off to fetch Armin and I stand behind a gaggle of drunk girls, the annoying kind, trying to hide. The two blondes, one short and skinny, one tall and buff, approach us and we head to the hallway, where it's quieter. 

"Armin, this is Jean. Jean, Armin. We're all good friends, except Jean's an asshole," Reiner snorts. Bert literally facepalms. 

Armin smiles at me and shakes my hand. He's chipper. Like Marco. 

"You... you wouldn't happen to know an Eren, would you? Eren Jaeger?" Armin asks curiously. I blink in confusion. 

"Yeah? I work with that asshat, how do you know him?" 

"Oh. A school co-op placement. He talks about you. Usually not very kindly," he says. He's grinning though, like he doesn't hold Eren's words of me against me. I like this kid. 

"Yeah, well, he's not very kind in the first place."

Armin just shrugs. "I'm gonna go back, I haven't actually had anything to drink yet. You wanna come hang out with us, Jean?" he asks. I'm tempted, but I'd rather not chill with Marco so I politely decline and he heads off. I turn to Reiner and Bert, hoping they'll hang out with me, but they're just making out against the wall. 

Disgusting. Grumbling roughly, I wander to the kitchen where Reiner said he would save me some booze. Snooping through the fridge, I discover a small bottle of blueberry vodka. This will do. Pulling it out, I unscrew the cap and tag a swig. The burning down in my mouth and down my throat is refreshing. I grin and join the crowd, making new friends. 

Not friends, of course, just people to make it look like I am less alone. 

I'm not sure how much time has passed, but the bottle is empty when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I whip around and the drunken grin falls from my face at the blurry sight of Marco Bodt staring at me. 

"Hey, Jean," he says in a hesitating murmur. 

"Hey," I say politely. I feel cold. But I feel awkward and I don't really know what to do about it. I'm used to just... brushing people off. Forgetting them. 

I sure as hell haven't forgotten Marco Bodt. 

"How have you been?" he asks. So, what? He just wants to do small talk?

"You mean since we kissed? I've been fine, you?" I demand in response, sounding more irritated than I had intended. 

Maybe it's because he's drunk, maybe he was expecting it, but he just grins. I was expected him to be pissed or hurt.

"Aggressive, huh? I've been fine. Lonely, but fine," he says with a pitiful sigh. 

The fuck is he playing at. Suddenly he lets out a gasping sort of sigh, like he's very exasperated. 

"Look, Jean. You're an asshole. But like, you're cool. I wanna hang out with you and I wish you wouldn't avoid me just because of a kiss. Either we can pretend it never happened or we can make it a thing. Yeah?" 

Since when is this prick so confident? 

"Okay," I say, unsure of other words. 

"Okay? What does that mean, then? Did it never happen or should it happen again?" he says. When I rest in uncertain silence, he leans closer to me. "Because I, for one, would like it to happen again." 

Eh? 

"I would like other things to happen, too," he adds. 

I feel my heart rate quicken. What the fuck, this is not how it is supposed to go. I'm supposed to be calm and cool. I'm supposed to make people flustered. I'm supposed to make _his_ heart race. I swallow and, cursed be my eyes, glance down at his lips. This does not go by unnoticed, as I watch Marco grin. 

"C'mon," he says and pulls away, grabbing my hand. He tugs me off into another direction and down the hall. I wonder, briefly, where Reiner and Bert are. Fucking around somewhere, I guess. 

I follow Marco as he guides me into a room. A bedroom. I am distinctly aware of his hand gripping mine as he moves back and closes the door behind me. Then he stands before me, very close. We are nearly at eye level. 

"So, Jean. If I kiss you, are you gonna run away again?" he asks, grinning lazily. If I weren't so drunk, I'd have more concern for his state of intoxication. If I weren't so thirsty, I'd have more concern for his feelings. 

"No," I concede and he leans closer once again. 

"Are you gonna be a dick to me?" 

"Probably," I say bluntly.

Marco only chuckles and I feel him move even closer until our chests are touching and his hands are sliding up and around my neck before he presses his lips against mine. It's chaste and sweet and leaves me wanting more when he pulls away. 

"Another?" he says softly, and I nod. 

This kiss is much less innocent. I move my hands down to his hips and pull him tightly against me as our lips slide together. I nibble delicately at his bottom lip, then more roughly, and my heart lurches at the groan he makes against my lips. Grinning, feeling encouraged, I deepen the kiss by pressing my tongue against his lips. He quickly parts them in response and I explore his mouth. Taste him, memorize him. He sighs happily and I pull back, causing him to groan slowly. He's content soon enough, though, when I begin placing wet kisses along his jaw, sucking slightly, before moving to his throat. 

My hands move from his hips and to the collar of his pale green shirt to begin undoing the buttons. My hands move deftly with great familiarity and soon the shirt is sliding from his shoulders and to the ground. 

"You said you wanted more things to happened, no?" I breath into his ear, relishing in the way he shudders. 

His fingers are gripping the fabric of my shirt and pulling me to the bed. In this moment, I cannot possibly care about who's bed it is. I only have eyes and thoughts for Marco, beautiful Freckled Jesus. Mine, all mine. He falls back onto the soft mattress and I on top of him, propping myself up with my elbows as I lean down and kiss his lips again, and again, and again. He wiggles back to lay down properly and before I can kiss him again, he's tugging at my shirt. I pull back and pull it over my back and toss it. Marco's eyes flutter shamelessly over my toned torso. I'm pleased. 

"Like what you see?" I ask, grinning. 

"I wanna lick you like a popsicle," he says sincerely. I truly hope he gets what he wants.

Leaning over, I press more kisses to his neck, finishing what I had started before. My lips and tongue move downwards, nibbling at his collar bone, until meeting one of his nipples. I swirl my tongue and enclose it in my lips, but he seems rather insensitive to it. I look up at him, his eyes large as he watches me. I find my teeth digging into the soft flesh, and then the nipple hardens. So he likes biting? 

The kinky little fuck. 

I hear him gasp and I tend to the other nipple, the small sounds he's making spurring me on. Our bodies are pressed so close together, I can feel his hard on against my lower abdomen. The thought only makes me more aroused. _I_ made him like this. _I'm_ the one he's moaning for. _I'm_ the one he wants. My lips move further down, licking wet lines down his skin until I reach the waist band of his pants. 

I undo the button, then the zipper. Slowly, teasingly, just allowing my hands to brush against the bulge as I begin to tug his purple pants down. He lifts his hips to accommodate me, and soon I'm throwing the fabric across the room.

Marco lays beneath me, breathing heavily and in just his briefs. I'm not drunk enough to fuck him, not like this, but there are other things I'm not holding back from. I lower my head between his thighs and gently press my lips against the hard bulge, causing him to groan quietly. I move my mouth, moistening the fabric of his briefs with my tongue as I gently suck on him through the fabric. 

"A-ah. Jeann..." he breaths out, twitching hungrily. I grin and pull at his briefs. They're gone soon. 

"Y-you're wearing- ah!- too many clothes," he manages to say. Straddling his hips, I slowly begin to unbuckle my belt, which falls to the ground in a matter of seconds. Then I pop open my button. Pull down the zipper. My hands move with taunting speed, and I hear Marco's breath quicken. 

Let the show begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember what day I said so I just put Saturday. Correct me if I'm wrong.
> 
> Also like, I can't remember if I've had Reiner's house closer or what? I never prepare myself. 
> 
> I for one, am not an annoying drunk girl. Maybe bc I'm usually high at the same time? But trust me, I'm very very cool.
> 
> Probably smutty in the next chapter.


	13. (Marco) Sexual Synergy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut

My lips grow dry as I watch Jean's performance with wide, unblinking eyes. I don't want to miss a second of it. He leans forward, closer to me, so that he can slip out of those jeans. Now he's crouching over me in just his boxers; black of course. He looks so damn good in black. I allow my gaze to travel from his rounded pecs, down the path of his well-formed abs, and to the dark fabric hiding the gift between his legs. 

Upon closer inspection, I see a small pattern of grey skulls along the front. 

That's fucking adorable.

"Good enough?" he asks in words slowed by alcohol and pleasure as he grins lazily down upon me. I can feel his fingers kneading into the skin of my abdomen and moving upward, like a cat. His golden eyes bright and excited with growing pupil. 

"Nope," I say with a cheeky smirk and reach over to hold the fabric of his boxers in between my fingers. "These go, too." 

I hear a coy chuckle of amusement from above me while my eyes are fixed on the growing bulge at Jean's crotch. I'm immensely pleased to have this effect on him, to make him this way. I watch intently as he slipped out of the thin, black material and although the boxers are cute, I'm not unhappy to see them go. And suddenly it's not just an obscure shape that I'm staring at, but Jean's cock. It's flushed a dark shade, standing proudly with a subtle curve. He's a bit longer that me, though not so thick. 

Licking my dry lips, I stare up Jean and feel my face heat up. Usually it's from embarrassment or shyness. But not today. Today, the cause of my blush is nothing short of arousal.

"Do you like it?" Jean asks in a low, whispering tone. I nod silently. 

"Come up here, so I can taste you," I say in response. Sober, I would not have been able to say those words without stutter. Now I say them bravely, hungrily. Jean's eyes darken and his grin becomes rather devilish as he slides up my chest until his knees rest beside my head and his dick sits in front of my face. 

I smile up at him before gently pressing my lips against the tip in a kiss. The idea of sucking his cock, making him squirm and moan, makes me harder than I already was. I alow my tongue to slide against the head, before swirling around it until I take the rounded shape in my mouth.

When I hear a shuddering groan, I glance up at Jean and see him staring down on me. His gaze is intense. 

I don't move, just sit there with the head of his cock in my mouth while I stare at him with a daring expression. Either Jean understands me, or he's merely getting impatient, because I feel him slide further along my tongue and deeper into my mouth. He moans again when I begin sucking, just enough for him to feel. Just enough to tease him. 

"Ahh, fuck, Marco," he sighs and then pulls out, before pushing back in. He begins thrusting slowly, gently, using my mouth as he pleases. I can taste pre cum at the back of my throat. I can feel pre cum dripping down my own dick. I close my dark eyes and concentrate on my mouth, pressing my tongue along the underside of the cock inside my mouth. "Your mouth feels so fucking good, Marco. You suck cock like it's the best thing you've ever tasted."

After only a few seconds of Jean gently fucking against my lips and tongue, I feel Jean pull away and blink my eyes open to glance up at him, a small whine on my lips to replace the cock. I watch him as he shuffles himself down so that he's once again straddling my hips with his knees. At this moment, Jean takes both of our cocks in his hand and begins stroking us. 

"I want you to feel good too, Marco," he says quietly. I move my lips to respond, but a gasping moan replaces my words as he begins to stroke us faster. I can feel my cock rubbing against his, held there by the hand. The stimulation causes pleasure to race through my. I can hear my own blood roaring in my ears, my heart racing. I stare up at Jean, who's torso his curved down towards me. 

His eyes are closed, his face wincing in pleasure as he jacks the both of us of in fervour. 

It's not long before I can feel the signs of my climax nearing. 

"Shit... 'm so close, Marco," Jean says in a moaning growl, not opening his eyes. 

"Me too," I breathe weakly. 

I can feel the warmth of his hand and his throbbing cock against my own as more stimulation manifests pleasure between my legs. I can't suppress the whimpering moans that match Jean's. I can't restrain my hips from jerking up so that I can rut desperately, pathetically, against him.

Suddenly I feel the stiffening of orgasm clutch through me, holding my down as I shudder beneath Jean. Both of our cocks are streaming with spurts of white, most of which landing along my abdomen as gasping groans move from our lips. 

We stay there, breathing heavily with our eyes closed as the glow of climax fades. I suddenly feel Jean move away from me, the bed shifting as he slides off it. A dread twitches in my stomach, I blink open my eyes and watch Jean rummaging around the room. Probably looking for his clothes so he can run off like he seems to do. 

Even though we were both drunk and absent of reason, I thought maybe it would be different. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I know Jean well enough. I shouldn't have expected anything less than this. He comes all over me and then he leaves.

Before I can even speak to him, he returns clutching something dark. I glance down. It's a shirt. Not mine, not his. It probably belongs to whoever owns the bedroom. He smiles sheepishly at me as he begins wiping the cum away from my skin, and from his own before tossing the shirt away. I'm too relieved, too tired, too drunk to care about dirtying the shirt. 

Jean then moves to lay beside me and we both struggle beneath the covers before we both get comfortable. I can feel my eyes drooping already; from intoxication and from post-coital nature. The darkness of sleep falls upon me, and my last image is that of Jean watching me. I think I'm smiling when I fall asleep. 

 

~

 

I wake up to a strange and unfamiliar warmth surrounding me. I can feel arms resting around my hips, a faint breath on my cheek. 

Huh? 

In a sudden panic, I force open my tired eyes, much to the distaste of my stinging headache, and find myself face to face with sleeping Jean. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me tightly against him. I notice the steady movements of his chest, with each gentle inhale and exhale. I can hear a faint snore. He looks kind of cute when he's asleep, all peaceful like.

Crap, it doesn't matter how good he looks. We fucked last night, that much I can remember. 

Well, we didn't really have sex. Close enough though! It wouldn't be such a bad thing if he wasn't so emotionally uninterested in me. I squirm from his grip, trying not to wake him. 

I fail. 

I watch as he slips from his slumber. I watch as he notices me, the whole situation. I watch as his eyes widen in remembrance of last night. I watch as his lips part to form a single word. 

"Shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've roleplayed smut but I've never actually written it individually before, how did I do?
> 
> I feel like I should have been more detailed but I was hungry and couldn't concentrate x.x


	14. (Jean) Chronic Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **100 Kudos!!** Thank you so much, I never actually thought I would earn so many. It's really encouraging, and even though I was considering giving up on this story for all of my insecurity, I will now keep going with it.

A certain kind of warmth embraces my body. It holds me comfortably while I rest in a peaceful slumber, the world insignificant to me as I sleep. The living tranquillity is interrupted by a rustling sound, a shift in the mattress below me, and I blink open my pale golden eyes. 

The sight before me is not one I am familiar with. Waking up in bed, someone laying beside me, propped up on elbows as though planning to leave. 

Generally, when I fuck someone, I don't stick around long enough to wake up with them in the morning. This act leaves far too much room for personal questions and a certain depth of intimacy, and my goal is to leave my sexual adventures devoid of opportunity for growing attachment. The sleepy grog fades from my vision and I find myself staring into Marco's wide eyes. He has nice eyes, you know. Like little pieces of chocolate, as though to mirror the sweetness of his personality. 

"Shit," I mumble, the memories of last night flood into my vaguely blurred mind, thankfully blessed without the ache of a hangover. 

I've been getting less and less hangovers. Maybe my body is growing immune, for my countless nights of drinking. Alone or otherwise. 

"Shit, shit, shit," I repeat in a weak, sleepy voice. Fuck Marco (again, I suppose) because I can't remove these sensual images of him from my thoughts. Of his parted lips and stroking tongue. His face wincing in pleasure and desperation. His panting breaths, whining moans, eager yelps. Of his dusty skin, covered in a spray of freckles. 

I didn't know I like freckles.

Shaking my head, I allow myself to unsteadily slip from the bed. As though furthering myself from Marco will stop the sensual images. I watch his expression, a curious combination of shy blushing and offended eyes. Oh right, I'm still naked. Shamelessly I turn around and bend over, probably giving Marco a nice view of my ass, as I rummage around for my clothes. God, I shouldn't be flirting right now. And I have no idea who's room we're in. 

Marco's quiet, dull voice has me halting in my rapid attempt to clothe myself and get the hell out of there.

"You're going to run away, again." 

A statement, not a question. 

I turn around to look at him, slowly tugging my shirt over my torso. 

"And why shouldn't I?" I ask. For reasons beyond the comprehension of my dying brain cells, I regret the words. 

"I don't know. I thought we were kind of friends for a bit there, and usually when you sleep with a friend, or whatever we did, I guess it means you like them? Do you like me?" he asks. 

Fucking hell. Jesus Christ. What the cocksucking shit. That's what he's springing on me? 

"Do you like me?" I counter because I don't know what the fuck else to say.

"Maybe." 

?? ?What?!? Is he shitting with me? He's playing with me, right? 

"The fuck does that mean?" I demand, perhaps a length too harshly. But let's all be a bit more real here. I, Jean Kirschtein, am a douchebag. The king, no, the god of all assholes. And I'm sure he knows some of my issues, though I don't remember all of what I said that night I broke into his apartment. Let's not sugercoat it, I'm pretty fucked up. Why would someone like Marco like someone like me?

"It means maybe I like you. I don't know. I miss hanging out with you, and I liked sort of having sex with you, and I really hope you don't just leave. What do you think that means?"

"I don't know, do I look like an expert on romantic feelings?" I respond dryly, staying where I stand as I watch him move to get dressed. 

"No, I suppose not. Why do things like this scare you?" he questions. "Emotional things." 

"They don't scare me," I retort. 

"Yes, they do. You run away from a kiss? Now you run away from the bed you shared with me. You run away from attachment by sleeping around. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, I'm just saying it's proof." 

I stare at Marco as he speaks to me. There's a touch of sadness on his face. The lingering sorrow confuses me; I can't find reason for it. 

"I'm not scared," I repeat seriously. "I just don't think there's a point. Things never last." 

"Of course they do," Marco says. "Sometimes. My grandparents have been together since the dawn of age. And my parents didn't last, but they were together for over two decades. And most of that was really happy, and they had two kids. It was nice for a time being, and isn't that better than being alone forever?" 

"I don't know, is it? Is it better to have lost than to have never had it in the first place?"

"Yes, Jean. Yes it is," he says, now fully dressed. I watch incredulously as he makes the bed. We're in a stranger's room and he's making the bed, of fucking course.

I sigh. "What do you want from me, Marco? What would you have me do?" 

"I would have you go on a date with me, Jean Kirschtein," he says with a shrug. I'm surprised by the confidence of his words, less so at the faint shade of pink on his cheeks. 

"That's... That's not really me, Marco." 

"It could be, if you wanted. If you're gonna say no, say it because you're not interested in me. Don't say it because you're worried of how it will turn out."

I remain silent. He shrugs, looking rather disappointed. 

"You know where to find me, if you change your mind," he says before turning and leaving the room. I watch him go, and feel a stiffness in my chest. Sighing, I wander after him. Not to follow, but because I can't just stay in this random bedroom. Most of the people around me are sleeping still. It is still morning after all. 

I spot Marco in the living room, waking up Armin and talking quietly to him. The tired blonde nods, his golden hair a mess, and moves to get up. I watch from the shadows of the hallway as the two gather their things and move towards the front door. To my surprise and quiet embarrassment, Marco turns around to meet my gaze for a moment, before stepping outside. 

I hadn't known that he knew I was there.

Swallowing thickly, I go to the kitchen where I find Reiner making coffee. He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. 

"Want a cup?" he says in a voice low and rough with sleep. I nod and pulls out another mug from the cupboard, setting it beside mine. 

"Where's Bert?" I ask. 

"Bedroom." 

Of course.

"How are you two?" 

"We're... We're fucking good. Great. I'm kind of worried it's just our honeymoon phase, but I think we'll be able to work things out." 

"So you're getting serious?" I ask. It's only been a few weeks, but I can tell Reiner really likes this sweaty brunet. 

"I guess you could say that. I've liked him more than anyone else, to be honest. He's so nice, but not to the point where he's an annoying pushover. He's honest, and flexible. Willing to try new things, you know? And he's a great fuck." 

Man, Reiner sounds so whipped. He describes Bert the way I would describe Marco. Does that mean I'm whipped? 

... 

Nah. 

"I'm happy for you man," I say, and he grins as he pours dark coffee into the mugs. The bitter smell wafting towards me. It's one of my favourite smells. I only add a splash of cream before leaning against the counter and nursing the steaming mug in my hands. I relish in the burning of my palms. 

Reiner adds some cream and sugar and vanilla and cinnamon (is that even coffee anymore?) and situates himself beside me. I watch in the corner of my eye as he sips the coffee because apparently boiling on liquids don't affect him like normal people.

"So. You and Marco?" Reiner says, his voice questioning and curious. I stare at him in confusion. "I saw you two last night, getting pretty close." 

"Oh," I murmur before adding bluntly. "We fucked." 

Reiner makes a sort of choking sound in surprise. "That's it? Where is he now?" 

"He left. And I don't know. It might be it, might be more. Haven't decided yet," I say, trying to sound indifferent as I blow cool air into my mug to calm the agonizingly heat of the beverage. 

"I think you like him. You may not realize it, you may not have noticed it, but I have. Bert has too. You get this kind of look in your eyes whenever we bring him up. I'm not being cheesy, you just get this... this flicker of interest, you know?" 

I make a careless grunting sound, not responding with words, as I cautiously sip at my bitter coffee. It's perfect. 

"You should give it a chance. Give him a chance," he urges me. His tone is quiet, though. Respectful. 

"I'll think about it, Reiner."

And I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Jean swearing like a goddamn sailor.
> 
> I feel like some of the dialogue is kind of formal? Let me know if you agree. I've been watching Spartacus and I think the dialogue is rubbing off on me.


	15. (Marco) Domestic Devotion

After Armin and I get back to my apartment, we both take a shower and drink coffee in attempts to soothe the rage of our painful hangovers. After having closed all the curtains, preventing morning light from streaming in, we both slump onto the bed-couch that Armin had been sleeping on. Groaning, I curl up into a ball. 

"I'm never drinking again," I say, whimpering rather pathetically. It's the complete and utter truth, I swear. 

"Yeah," Armin snorts as he nurses his warm mug, "And I'm as tall as Bert." 

"The sarcasm is strong with this one," I say, and the blond laughs.

After that, a sleepy sort of silence falls over us. It's wide, comfortable. Suddenly there's enough room in my mind to think about Jean. Jean, Jean, Jean. God, did I ever embarrass myself in front of him last night. But it turned out alright, didn't it? I was drunk enough to impress him with my confidence and have fun. I had a pretty nice orgasm. 

The morning after wasn't quite as pleasant, of course. It could have been worse, I suppose.

I just can't stop thinking about the look in his pale golden eyes when I left him standing there, in the room. And then again, in the hallway, when I left with Armin. What I saw was not expected. What I expected was irritation. Or disgust, or discomfort. Fear. And yet what I saw... What I saw was curiosity. Consideration. 

Though I left the sleeping house with a pang of disappointment of rejection gnawing at my chest, I still had reason to smile. To hope, as cheesy as it sounds. 

I just hadn't realized how much I liked him though, in the little time I'd gotten to know him. I hadn't realized it until my drunk mouth said it and my mind and heart agreed. Until his lips were against mine, before pulling away and leaving me with a desire for more. I swallow uncomfortably. My mind, as groggy and aching as it is, goes to work. Trying to decide whether or not Jean will give this dating thing a chance. Whether or not he'll give me a chance. 

Like I said, when I left, he seemed to be thinking about it. Considering me. He certainly feels a physical attraction towards me, but he probably feels that way about most people. His lips and hands told me that he wanted more, though. Touching me in this gentle and comforting and affectionate sort of way. 

Sighing, I can't help but imagine us together. It's so easy, so, so easy. To picture us holding hands, going for walks around the city. Cuddling in bed, kissing warmly and whispering softly to each other. Making breakfast together in the most domestic way possible. Fuck it, let's throw a pet into the picture. I'm more of a dog person. Jean would probably be grumpy about having to walk our German Shepherd, no, how about some kind of hound? I think, somewhere deep down, Jean could be that person, though. It's just a matter of whether he wants to or not.

A soft voice pulls me from my reverie. 

"Marco?" comes the voice. Armin's. 

"Yeah?" 

"Are you thinking about Jean?" 

It kind of unnerves me that he guessed so accurately. But I mean like, I just confessed my 'like like' for Jean. To Jean. Of course I'm thinking about him, oh my god what have I done. "Why do you ask?" 

"I just wanna know if you're okay. You looked kind of sad this morning. And I figured you two were together last night." 

"Oh... Yeah, we were together. We did some stuff. I'm not sure if it'll go further than that. It's up to him, really." 

"You hope it goes further?" he asks. 

After a few moments of silence, I respond. "Yeah. I think so. Nah, I know so." 

"I hope so, too. I think, even though he seems kind of rude, that he would make you happy. You deserve to be happy, you know that, right?" 

"Sure, Armin. Thanks," I say, craning my neck to look at him and smile. He smiles back. I then recall something spoken last night. "So... Like, Eren works with Jean?" 

"Oh! Yeah, that was such a weird coincidence. They both work at a clothing store at this mall. It's pretty close to you guys. Eren lives closer to you than me, so it's not that much of a drive. I've heard all sorts of things about Jean. Those two really get on each other's nerves." 

"I'll bet a lot of people get on Jean's nerves. And that Jean gets on a lot of people's nerves," I say with a small grin of amusement. 

"But not you." 

It's not a question. It's a statement. 

"Guess not. He seems to tolerate me, and obviously I more than tolerate him." 

"I hope it works out, Marco. I really do." 

"Me too." 

We sit there for more moments of silence. "I hope it works out with Eren. In whichever way you want it to." 

"Thanks, Marco. I think it will. I'm meeting his family next week, you know. His sister, Mikasa. His father, Grisha. He's not around much, though. His mom is dead." 

"That's sad," I say. "But nice that you're meeting them. You nervous?" 

"Kind of. I mean, I don't really know how I see Eren, so I don't know if I even have anything to be nervous about." 

"Ah. Well, call me. Tell me how it goes." 

"I will," he promises. "You tell me about Jean."

"I will." 

I'm not sure how long the two of us sit there, resting in silence, but at some point Armin gets up and starts packing his things into is bag. His blond hair is tied up into a messy ponytail, which looks cute on him. 

"I should get going," he says. I stand up. 

"It was great having you, Armin. You better come back soon!" 

He laughs, nodding in agreement. "Well thanks for having me, and I will. And you should come to my place sometime!" 

"Sounds good. I'll call you soon." 

"See you, Marco." 

"See you," I say, as he steps out the front door and I close it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not very long, sorry 'bout it. 
> 
> Would you guys like a chapter with Marco going to Armin's place and meeting Eren and all that jazz? Or should I just do like a brief thing about it, as opposed to actual details.
> 
> Note: Just figured I should let you guys know that I'm planning a new JeanMarco fanfic [Gladiator/Roman AU]. Not sure when I'll start it, but probably after I finish this one.


	16. (Marco) Interesting Encounters

It's been two weeks since Armin stayed over. Two weeks since Jean... 

Anyway, the days are getting colder and less people need to have new and exciting gardens and basically I haven't been working much lately. On one hand, I'm not getting much money. On the other hand, I was able to accept Armin's invitation to come over to his his place this weekend. So here I am, surrounded by strangers and clinging to a pole so that the speed of the subway train doesn't knock me off my feet. 

The thing about the subway is that even though its kind of gross, it can take you far away in a matter of minutes. Regardless of that exaggeration, I actually enjoy taking the subway for some reason. 

I'm not sure how much time has passed, perhaps half an hour, when I reach my stop. I step out of the train and am greeted by a cool blast of wind that blows my hair back. Seriously why and how is the underground subway area so breezy and cold? 

In any case, now it's time to walk. As I jog up the steps and out into the streets I zip up my casual jacket, which is a pale sunflower yellow. Each exhale provides a small puff of cloudy air. I pull out my phone and open up the map that I'd saved, given that I was new to this city. I follow the marked path to the residential building of Armin's college, which is pretty close to the campus itself. It's only after about 10 minutes of walking that I see the building and call Armin. He picks up after two or three rings. 

"Hey, Marco."

"Hey! I'm entering the building right now."

"Oh! Great, I'll come down and get you." 

"Thanks," I say, and he hangs up. 

I sit on one of the black chairs and wait, but I don't have to wait long before Armin is striding up to me with a friendly smile on his face.

"Ready to see my horrifyingly messy place?" he said with a chuckle. 

"You know I am," I say with a snort as I get up because the Armin I know couldn't possibly have a messy room. He probably just has a shirt on the floor and some papers on his desk. We take the stairs up to the second floor because there's no elevator and walk down the hall of dark red doors. Armin halts and pulls out a key card before pushing into the room. 

We walk into a kitchen. Aside from the dishes in the sink, it doesn't really seem so dirty. Then I follow Armin to his bedroom. 

"Ah... I apologize," he says as he opens the door and I follow him inside. 

Well, I'm shocked speechless needless to say. There's fucking clothes on the bed and floor not to mention binders of papers. I see some dirty bowls and utensils on the bed. I stare at Armin.

"Who are you and what have you done with Armin?" I demand in a joking manner, and he laughs as he runs his fingers through his messy blonde hair. 

"Sorry! I've been so caught up in my studies... I haven't had time to, like, clean up and stuff," he says with a sheepish chuckle as he rushes around to put stuff away. Mostly he just shoved it all under the bed, but he did put those dishes in the kitchen. 

"It's fine, Armin. At least it doesn't smell bad," I say with a grin, crediting that to the window that was open by a crack. Not enough to make the room too cold, enough to freshen it out. 

"Alright," he says, apparently now satisfied with the state of his room as he flopped onto the mattress. "So, you wanna watch some movies or something?" 

"Sure," I say, sitting beside him. 

We spend a few hours watching comedies and snacking, when Armin gets a phone call. I don't really hear much of it because I'm pretty into this movie, but Armin pauses the movie and glances at me. 

"So Eren wants to come over, is that okay?" he asks hesitantly. 

"Sure!" I say sincerely. "I've been wanting to meet him anyway." 

Armin nods, looking relieved before he refers back to his phone. "Yeah, you can come over. Okay, great. See you soon." 

"He'll be here in 15 minutes," he says to me before playing the movie.

"Okay," I say. I can no longer pay attention to this movie because I'm curious about Eren. Armin has never been attracted to anyone for as long as I've known him, and this Eren character seems to have caught his attention. He must be something special to make Armin question his own identity. 

In any case, after the movie ends Armin and I clean up our snacking garbage and dishes and hang around in the kitchen when we hear a knock. Armin perks up and goes to answer it, and I can't help but notice that he doesn't seem nervous. He may or may not have his first crush in the entire world who is knocking on his door and he's completely comfortable about it. And Armin isn't a particularly socially courageous or anything, I totally expected him to be at least kind of anxious about seeing Eren. That's just how he is. He must feel really relaxed around this Eren. 

Speaking of which, I watch as he walks passed Armin and smiles rather hesitantly at me. "Hey, man. I'm Eren." 

He's taller than tiny Armin, but a few inches shorter than me. He's lanky and tanned with messy, long brown hair and large teal eyes and I can finally see why Armin is questioning himself because damn. How can Jean, who is most certainly attracted to males, absolutely despise this dude? It's beyond me, really. 

"Hello! I'm Marco," I say with a smile. 

Armin closes the door and glances at Eren. "How'd you get here? Did Mikasa drop you off?" he asks. 

"Nah, I borrowed her car," he says before observing my curious expression. "Mikasa is my adopted sister." 

"Ahh," I say with understanding. "What's she like?" 

"She great!" Armin pipes up before wandering to his room. 

"Yeah. She seems really supportive and cold, but she's actually very loyal and supportive. I love her to bits," Eren says, leaning against the counter. 

"So..." I say, seizing the opportunity while Armin is in his room, "You and Armin?" 

I hear a rather nervous chuckle from Eren and I lean against the counter beside him. 

"What about it?" he asks. 

"I'm just curious, that's all." 

"Well, I'd tell you if I knew, Marco. I think we're just figuring each other out, right now." 

"Okay... But you know-" 

"I won't hurt him, I swear," he says, cutting me off, in a calm voice. I nod. Okay, good. Good, because I'd rip off his face if he hurt Armin.

When Armin comes back, I notice that he's tied his messy hair up into a cute ponytail and changed shirts. Interesting. 

"So, since I have the car, you guys wanna go eat dinner somewhere?" Eren suggests. I check the oven clock and realize it is time to eat. 

"Sure," I say, and Armin agrees. Armin grabs his dark coat, and I my yellow jacket, before we head out the door. 

After driving around and arguing amicably about where to eat, we end up at McDonalds. Thankfully, there's not too many people crowding the seats, so after grabbing our food we pick a booth by the window. 

I unwrap my deliciously disgusting Quarter Pounder With Cheese Dressed Like A Mac Extra Onions and sink my teeth into it. It's so juicy, which probably isn't a good thing, and it's wonderful. This McDonalds has a special drink dispenser, which is new according to Armin, where basically there's only one dispenser but there's a huge list of different drinks you can get. 

For example, Eren got the cherry Coke. Armin got root beer mixed with orange Fanta. And I got peach Sprite, which is obviously the best. Whatever, I hope we get one of those soon.

The meal is pleasant because yummy unhealthy burgers and also casual conversation. Eren is really quite easy to get along with, though he seems overly-passionate about certain things. We don't talk about his therapy or whatever, maybe he doesn't know that Armin told me. Whatever, it's not really good dinner talk for newly-made acquaintances. From what I can see, though, he'll be good for Armin. If Armin wants him, that is. 

I pay close attention to Eren the whole time, even when we get back to Armin's and play video games (Eren is a master) and even when he drives me to the subway. Because, while I know how Armin feels, I wanna see how Eren feels. And I'm pretty sure he feels the same way. Interested, curious, but uncertain. I notice his lingering gazes and sparkling eyes, but that's all there is. Other than that, he seems hesitant. 

I stand at the entrance to the subway tunnels and Armin hugs me after Eren shakes my hand. 

"See you, Marco! Get home safely, and call me soon!" Armin says. 

"Yeah, thanks for everything. Nice meeting you, Eren." 

"You too." 

"Well, good night guys," I say before turning around and jogging down the stairs. 

Later on, after nearly falling asleep on the subway, I make it back home feeling pretty content with myself. I mean, not to be cheesy or anything, but I feel like I've made a lot of progress with myself. When I first moved into my apartment I was lonely and mopey, but since then I've really been getting out more. I've hung out with Bert and Reiner a few times, Ymir and Christa as well. Plus I dropped a few pounds which obviously makes me ecstatic. All in all, I feel pretty good right now.

I walk down the hallway to my apartment and lean over, wiggling my keys into the keyhole when I hear a quiet voice behind me. 

"Marco?" 

It's familiar, of course. I've heard that voice in different places, saying different words, in different ways. I've heard him shout and sing drunkenly (really, he did drunk karaoke one time) and I've heard him moan my name. I've heard him confess his dark secrets and I've heard his silence reject me. 

I turn around and see him standing in the open doorway of his apartment. Right across from mine. 

"Hey, Jean." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhanger?? i guess. 
> 
> what did you guys think of this chapter?? it wasn't as detailed as i wanted but i wasn't feeling creative.


	17. (Jean) Disgusting or Delightful Domestics

I'd been hoping to see Marco all day. I'd knocked on his door twice and was going to see if he was finally home from wherever he'd gone when I met him unlocking his door. 

Alright, Jean. Jean Kirschtein. Jeanbo. Jeaaaaanbooo. Big boy, you're a big boy. Do it. Just talk. Say his name. Do it, right now, Jean. Seriously, if I hadn't had like a dozen shots of whiskey throughout the day I wouldn't have been able to even say his name. 

"Marco?" 

There it is, my voice. Shaking from nerves. And from being drunk. Yeah. 

I watch his body jerk in surprise as he starts, turning to face me. He looks surprised. Hey, I'm surprised too. Really fucking surprised. Nobody is more surprised than Jean Kirschtein that Jean Kirschtein has a crush. A motherfucking crush. On motherfucking Marco Bodt. I take that back, Marco isn't a motherfucker. He's probably never fucked a mother in his life (in case you're wondering, I totally have fucked a mother. Not mine, of course. Just some post-pregnancy desperate single mom, you don't need to hear this) because Marco is the nicest person. Did I already give him the nickname Freckled Jesus?

"Hey, Jean," he says in that disgustingly friendly, soft voice of his. All calm and shit while I'm over here almost pissing my pants what the fuck is wrong with you Jean?

"Where have you been all day?" I say in a possibly demanding voice. Great job, Jeanbo, you sound like a douchebag boyfriend. 

Marco just kind of blinks in surprise, his features pulling into a subtle frown. "Uh... At a friend's?" 

"Right. I didn't- I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that- Well, I've been waiting. For you. Ah, I mean, I want to talk to you." 

"Jean?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You wanna come in?" 

I stare at him, just a few feet away from me. Standing in his open doorway, inviting me in. It's... I mean, it's nice. It's a nice site. 

"Yeah," I say quietly and step forward, closing my own door behind myself. He moves aside so that I can walk passed him and into his home. It looks familiar, the same as when I was last here. I mean, it looks kind of like my apartment. Exactly like my apartment. Our apartments are the same. 

His is a lot neater, of course. Mine is covered in clothes and dirty dishes and some workout equipment and I don't even know what else. His smells nicer too. Kind of... fruity. Sweet. But also bitter? Like coffee. Like a nice hangover breakfast of fruit and coffee. Bittersweet. Goddamn it!

"Want something to drink? Or eat?" he offers,polite as ever, looking back at me as he shrugs off his jacket, it's like this ridiculous, wonderful yellow, and hangs it up. 

"Um, no thanks," I say before taking a seat on his couch. It's like? Pinkish orange? Weird, but it fits Marco. It definitely belongs in his apartment. It's soft too, like... Something soft, I can't stop touching it. The cushions are nice too, like super cushiony. Fluffy, you know? You ever sit in a couch and just fall in love? Yeah, that's me right now.

"So," Marco begins as he sinks down into the recliner across from me. I think it's new? It's pale blue. "What did you want to talk about?" 

His voice is strange. Not nervous? But like, anxious. Is there a difference? 

I take a deep breath. 

"Okay, Marco. I've been thinking. A lot. Thinking and drinking. I'm drunk right now," I begin, and he mumbles how he noticed. "I've been thinking, about what you said. The other day. Two weeks ago." 

I pause. He looks at me, waiting. "And?" 

"Oh, and. I want to, try. Like, try it. With you?" I stammer, questioning myself and my entire life. God, I'm sure my face is as red as a sunburn.

"Try what, Jean?" he asks, grinning. He fucking knows what, the little bastard. Freckled Jesus, more like Freckled Satan.

"You know..."

"No, please tell me, Jean."

"D-dating. You know, holding your hand and kissing your forehead and hanging out and dumb shit like that. Fuck, Marco, you're being really mean," I whine, turning my face away. I swear to God, I'm not usually like this.

"You kind of deserve it," he says with a small chuckle as he stands up and steps towards me, sitting on the couch beside me. 

"I was an asshole that night, are you ever going to get over it?" I complain. 

"Well, I guess you have time to make it up to me, now," he said, leaning closer to me, smiling that stupid fucking smile on his stupid fucking face. What does that even mean, does he still want to date me? 

"Yeah?" I ask intelligently. 

"Mhm," he murmurs softly and whoa, suddenly his face is close to mine. Really close. Kiss-close. Marco Bodt, going in for the kill. 

WHOOP THERE IT IS, he's kissing me. Gently, warmly, his lips press against mine. Aw man, this is so nice. Suddenly my hands are sliding up and curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer, not to choke him or anything. Not that I wouldn't... In the future... God, damn, Marco and his soft lips. 

He pulls away, leaving my lips lonely and I look him in his impossibly dark eyes. 

"So," he says quietly, smiling sheepishly. "We should probably talk. Not about feelings and stuff, we can do that tomorrow or something. But like, labels." 

"Labels?" I ask. "Like, um. Fuck buddies?" I suggest with a grin, earning me a light punch on the shoulder from Marco. 

"No, dumbass, like boyfriends. Partners. Whatever," he says. 

I clear my throat. "Marco Bodt?" 

"Mh?" 

"Will you be my boyfriend?" I ask, and almost wince because that sounds lame. The word boyfriend is kind of lame. But Marco just... His beautiful face just splits into this pleased grin of fucking triumph like he's getting exactly what the fuck he wants and when did I find myself wrapped around this boy's little finger?

"Yes, Jean Kirschtein, I will be your boyfriend," he said with a grin before placing a small kiss, a peck, on my lips before standing up and placing his hands on his hips. "Okay, Jeanbo. Jeanboyfriend, hahah. Basically, our dicks have touched each other and I think that means we've reached the level where you get to sleep over. Just sleep. In my bed, with me. Cuddling, because I require cuddling."

I burst out laughing because wow this dude, my boyfriend, is fucking adorable.

"I would love to cuddle with you, Marco," I say, standing up in front of him. "Well, maybe not love. But I would love to tolerate cuddling with you, just for you." 

"Good," Marco says, grinning as he leans forward and captures my lips once more. I can feel him smiling. It's amazing, like he just can't stop kissing my lips. He pulls away then, suddenly looking rather concerned. Worried. Like he's just realized something. We're so close I can see the freckles dancing along his tanned skin, 

"You're not like... Gonna change your mind, right? When you wake up sober?" he asks hesitantly. Shit, right, I'm pretty drunk right now. 

"Nononono, Marco," I say, initiating a kiss for the first time tonight, cupping his face with my hands as I assure him with kisses along his mouth and cheeks and nose because that's supposed to be cute, right? "I promise, I really want this. I really want you." 

He still looks pretty sceptical. Is he really that insecure? "Not just for sex?" 

"Nope. Like I say, hand holding and stuff. C'mon, babe, let's go cuddle," I say softly. He smiles.

"Babe?" 

"Ughghghghg," I groan, moving passed him and towards his bedroom because I know where it is. "Don't embarrass me about this shit or I won't do it." 

"Okay, okay," he says, chuckling as he follows me. 

"I don't have pajamas," I warn him, standing beside his bed as he sits down on it. 

"Well then, we'll both just have to sleep in our boxers. It's not fair if just you have to," he says with an innocent shrug. But as he peels off his clothes right in front of me, the twinkle in his eyes is anything but innocent. And suddenly, my thoughts are no longer innocent either. 

"Fuuuuck, Marco. I probably won't be able to handle that," I say as I tug off my shirt and pants, leaving them on the floor as Marco slides under the covers, leaving room for me. His bed isn't particularly large, which is good for his cuddling needs. Hopefully it doesn't get too warm, though. 

"Good," he retorts and I scramble down beside him. We lay there, facing each other, smiling. 

"You're not as sweet as everyone says you are, Bodt."

"Don't tell anyone, Kirschtein, I gotta reputation to keep." 

"You'll have to buy my silence," I say, sliding my hand over his waist to pull him closer to me. 

"With what, I wonder?" he says smirking as he leans his forehead against my shoulder. 

"I'm sure you'll find some way to pay me." 

"I'm sure I will." 

A comfortable silence falls over us, as we lay here. The only thing to interrupt the quiet is the muffled sounds of the living city outside. Rumbling cars and occasional horns, the ringing bell of a bicycle, people laughing and shouting. It's a beautiful sound, I decide. 

"Jean?" Marco pipes up, his voice slow and sleepy. 

"Yeah?" 

"Does anyone know? About this?" 

"Well... Reiner knows that I was going to talk to you. So Bert does too, probably." 

"Do you wanna tell other people?" With each word I can feel his warm breath against my bare skin. I can feel his warm skin beneath my finger tips. 

"Sure, soon. Maybe not right away." 

"Sounds good," he says, his voice growing softer and softer. His breathing slows even more, steady and quiet, and I know he's asleep. 

It's not long before I am too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like my writing is getting worse and worse i wanna cry i
> 
> i'll probably end this fic pretty soon with some fluff and some smut and be done with it.


	18. (Marco) Obscene Orifices

When I wake up, it's not because I've been sleeping for hours and hours and my body needs a break from it. It's not because the sun has risen from morning to afternoon over the city and is flooding light into the bedroom. It's not because Jean's arms, corded with lean muscles, are wrapped tightly around my body or because his chest is firmly pressed against my back or because his lips are sending soft puffs of breath against my ear and cheek. 

It's because his boner is stabbing my right ass cheek.

When my eyes blinked open and I felt the sensation my round cheeks (the ones on my face, that is) had flooded with the painfully familiar warmth of embarrassment. But that had been several minutes ago. Embarrassment had faded and was replaced by discomfort and frustration.

If I force myself out of his arms, he might wake up, and the whole thing would become way more awkward. Not for him, probably, he's used to all things sex-related. But for me. Not that I'm a virgin, obviously, but I'm just not as comfortable about it. 

God, this fucking sucks. 

The only thing that really comforts me is that it's not some douchebag whom I slept with thath as a raging morning wood, but my boyfriend. Jean, my boyfriend. My. Boyfriend. How cool is that. 

While I'm laying there in my state of uneasiness, slightly aroused, I silently debate over how to handle my little problem. Or rather, Jean's problem. I can feel it, that's packing. I recall the feeling of his thick length sliding in and out of my mouth, brushing against the back of my throat, weighing on my tongue.

Suddenly, whichever choice I would have made would be meaningless when I felt Jean squirming into wakefulness. I heard him groan and wondered if he was hungover. Wondered if he would remember lsst night. I felt him nuzzle into my neck, mumbling. 

"Morning, babe." 

I clear my throat. Has he not noticed his raging hard on yet? "M-morning." 

I feel his lips parting to kiss my neck until he stops and makes a chortling sound, wiggling his hips against me. 

"J-Jean, stop it!" I cry as the embarrassed flush returns to my cheeks. 

"Sorry babe. How long have you been laying here with my dick against your ass?" he says. He doesn't sound apologetic at all. 

"Like 20 minutes, you asshole." 

His arms are wrapped around my waist and chest, but I feel a hand sliding down my bare skin to cup my crotch through the boxers. Now I'm in a similar state to Jean. He starts fondling me gently and I can't stop myself from jerking against him. 

"Eager, aren't you?" he says in a chuckling voice. 

"Sh-shut up!" I snort. "I'm not the only one with a boner." 

Jean doesn't respond, but I suddenly feel his hands pushing me onto my back so he can see my face more clearly. "Do you wanna have sex?" he says bluntly, grinning down at me with those pale, golden eyes that I love.

"Yes," I say without thinking, because I don't have to think to know what I want. 

"Good, lazy morning sex is my favourite," he informs me before he lowers his body over mine, but not crushing me, and kissing his way from my chest to my neck. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. And angry make-up sex. And birthday sex. And-" 

"Okay, okay! I get it, you like sex!" I interrupt him

"And I'm going to show you why," he says, practically purring against my skin as he begins sucking on it. I lift my arms and run them down his bare back. His skin is smooth. Not flawless, but nice to feel beneath my fingertips. I explore the bumpy trail of his spine as he plants what I know will be hickeys on the column of my throat.

I let out a small, groaning exhale at the sensations along my neck. My hands wander back up his back, just enjoying how his body feels beneath my hands, until one of them slides along the shaven hair of his undercut. Then my fingers bury themselves into the soft fibres of dusty gold hair ontop. The other hand rests at the back of his neck as his lips and tongue and teeth tease my skin.

Then I feel a slight shift in Jean's position and the next thing I know he's grinding his cock against mine. Hell, if I could get any harder...

Simultaneously, we both let out a shuddering moan at the delicious friction between our legs. Jean begins rutting against me, his lips moving from my neck and to my lips where he kisses me bruisingly. I can feel a spot of dampness soaking into the crotch of my boxers. 

It appears that Jean is not the patient type as he's already scrambling back. I let out a shameless whine of disappointment at the loss of friction and watch as he crawls back and grabs the waist band of my boxers, pulling them off roughly without waiting for me to lift my hips to help. He tosses them. Then he removes his own, so that I have a good view of his dick. 

Just a big as I remember. 

"Have you done this before?" he asks cautiously. "With a guy, I mean." 

"I've never done... Anal. I know how it's done though," I say, only slightly shy. 

"Good to know I'll be taking your ass virginity, then," Jean replies, sounding genuinely pleased about the fact. "Anyway, how would you know how it's done?" 

"I... I'm a single man living alone, Jean. I watch a lot of porn. _A lot_ ," I emphasize. 

"What a dirty little boy," Jean purrs, making my blush. He creeps down between my thighs and unexpectedly nuzzle my cock, causing my to lurch. 

"I'm not a little boy, that sounds creepy," I complain, even though it's stirring me. 

"Would you prefer that I call you a dirty little slut?" Jean asks with a dark grin before licking a wet stripe up the underside of my cock. I inhale deeply, clenching my teeth together at the idea of Jean calling me a slut. I feel my dick twitch, and I'm sure Jean feels it too. "You would, wouldn't you? You want me to tell you how much of a whore you are? I bet I could make you beg for my cock." 

His voice has dropped to a low rumble, the words turning me on. I had no idea I have such a thing for this kind of dirty talk, the demeaning nature of it. Before I can even respond, though, Jean swirls his warm and wet tongue around the head of my cock, lapping at the beading pearls of precum. He starts sucking gently, slowly taking more and more of my length into his mouth. 

"Fuuuck, Jean. That feels so good, so good," I moan aloud, no longer embarrassed about the sounds and words coming from my mouth. 

Jean just hums in respond and begins bobbing his head up and down at a terribly taunting pace. It's driving me crazy, making me want to beg for more just like Jean said. 

"P-please, faster, Jean. More," I mumble, unable to form proper sentences. Screw grammar. 

I regret my pleas because Jean then pulls his lips away from my cock and looks up at me, smiling innocently. "Can't have you coming so soon, can we?" 

Groaning, I hoist myself up, supporting my torso on my elbows as I stare at him sitting up. "No fair," I complain. 

"Suck it up," he says, chuckling at his own pun as he slides off the bed. 

"That was horrible," I snort, even though it was pretty great. 

"You loved it," he insists. "So, you got any lube or something?" 

"Yeah, in the bottom drawer of the nightstand," I say. My dark eyes follow the figure of the muscled man as he goes through the drawer and pulls out the small bottle of colourless and viscous liquid. 

"Do you want me to prep you or do you wanna do it yourself?" he says, crouching between my legs once more. 

"You can do it," I say softly. "But... Can I turn over?" 

"Why?" he asks with a slight frown. 

"Uh... I'm just too embarrassed to watch you finger my asshole," I say truthfully, looking away. God, this is awkward for me. Jean only chuckles. 

"Okay, then. Get on your hands and knees," he says in a commanding down. I scowl at him for being so dominant, even though it makes my cock twitch with anticipation. I do as I'm told and turn over so I'm facing the headrest of the bed, facing the wall. I get on my hands and knees, allowing my back to slope downwards. 

I swallow thickly in embarrassment, knowing Jean must be inspecting my ass in his silence. What does that mean? Is it good or bad? 

"You have freckles..." he begins. "On your ass." 

"And...?" 

"For some reason, that's really fucking hot," he says and I feel his hands cupping the cheeks of my ass and fondling, massaging. I sigh, growing comfortable in this position. My comfort is replaced by embarrassment when I feel him spread my cheeks apart. 

"What a tight little hole you have here," he whispers out, his voice rough with arousal. 

"Not for long," I say, earning a chuckle from behind me. I hear him open the bottle with a click and yelp when I feel the liquid drizzle down the crack between my cheeks. "It's cold!" I breath out.

"Sorry," he says as his fingers begin smearing the lube. 

"It's okay... It actually feels good," I mumble as he adds generous amounts of lube. 

"Yeah? Maybe we'll have to do some temperature play in the future," he says. I can hear the grin in his voice. 

"What do you mean?" I ask. I know plenty of kinks, but this one is new.

"Like, putting hot or cold stuff on you. Anything from dripping hot wax over your nipples to shoving an ice cube up your ass." 

"O-oh. I see. Maybe not hot wax," I say, before pulling my bottom lip between my teeth and biting hard when I feel his fingers prod at my entrance. 

"Don't worry, baby. I won't put you through anything you don't want," he says softly. I nod, trusting him. That's when he slowly slips a finger inside of me. 

I've done this before, to myself. Only a few times. I was never flexible enough to really please myself with it. Still, it's a very foreign feeling. There's only a minor stinging ache, which I know will probably increase before the real pleasure takes over. 

"Okay?" he asks. 

"Yeah," I breathe out. 

Jean glides the finger in, as deep as it can go, before pulling it out. Not completely though, just to the fingertip, and then begins thrusting in and out. The pace is very slow, but I'm thankful for it. Soon enough, the pain dulls. 

"I think you can add another," I whisper. Jean complies and cautiously slips in a second. It hurts, more than before, but after a few gradual thrusts the pain fades away. I can feel his fingers, veering and scissoring and stretching me open. I groan at the feeling. It's not bad or good, yet. Just weird. 

"I'm gonna do a third," Jean warns me, and then I feel the third. Three of my boyfriend's fingers knuckle deep up my ass. By now I'm kind of used to it, the minor stinging and the oddity of it. Jean begins to increase the pace of his thrusting fingers. I feel his wrist move and his fingers angle a different away. 

I don't know what he does, but suddenly a wave of remarkable pleasure washes through me. My lips part in a silent moan, my eyes bulge open, I can feel myself clenching around his fingers. 

"Ahh! F-fuck, Jean!" I cry out, groaning. 

"That would be your prostrate, sweetling," Jean murmurs, still stretching me open wider and wider. "Felt good, didn't it?" 

"Yeah, Jean. It felt really good." 

"I knew a slut like you would like this; fingers stretching up your tight little ass." 

"Fuck, yeah. I am a slut," I moan in agreement, shamelessly. 

"Ready for my cock, big boy? Ready for my cock to stretch you wider than ever before?" he moans, suddenly breathing in my ear. 

"Y-yeah." 

"Yeah, what?" he asks, pulling his fingers away. Only then do I realize I enjoyed the feeling. 

"Fuck you," I sigh. "I want to... I want your cock... To fuck me. Stretch me," I say, trying to be brave about my words. 

"What a filthy little mouth you have, Marco. Where are your manners?" 

Right, he has a thing about begging. 

"P-please, fuck me. Jean, please fuck me," I say in a whining voice. 

"Good boy," he says warmly, positiong himself at my stretched entrance. Ever so slowly, he begins sliding into me until he's balls deep. There, he stops moving. 

"Jean?" I ask nervously. 

"I _am_ going to fuck you, Marco, since you asked so nicely. But first I have to punish you, for that filthy little mouth of yours. I think you deserve a spanking, don't you?"

Fuuuuck, fuck, I'm so fucked. "Yeah, Jean. I deserve that," I say and a split second later I feel his hands slapping the round shape of my ask. My skin stings, and I love it. A few more slaps sets my skin on fire, he's being so rough. Then he begins moving his cock, slowly in and out as he continues smacking my ass. 

"You like that, Marco? Like being spanked and fucked?" 

"Yeahh..." I moan out. My arms give out and the top half of my body falls onto the mattress and pillows beneath, while the bottom half his hoisted up. Jean begins fucking me faster, his hands gripping my hips tightly. 

"That's because your a desperate little whore, aren't you? I'm gonna teach you to love my cock more than anything else. No one else will ever be able to satisfy you, Marco," he growls roughly. 

"Good... I only want your cock, Jean. I'm only a whore for you," I whine out as Jean really begins fuckign me, hitting that spot, my prostrate, again and again. Fuck, it's so good. Feels so good, I can't even take it. My fingers grip the bedsheets while I gasp and moan with each thrust. 

_Ah, ah, ah!_

"Good boy, Marco. That's what I like to hear. My little slut." 

I feel a stiffness pooling into my lower abdomen, feel my ass clenching around Jean's cock. My own cock throbs and leaks desperately. Jean must be reading my mind because one of his hands wraps around me to grab a hold of my cock, stroking it rapidly. 

"I'm close Marco," he says in a breathy moan. 

"M-me too, Jean," I say in a high-pitched groan, burying my face into the pillow. The fingers on my hip grip me tightly enough to bruise. Good, I want him to leave marks on my body. 

"Good. Come, Marco. Come for me. Come with me," he says, leaning over my arching body, murmuring and breathing into my ear. 

His sultry words send me over and I can feel it. It's good, it's so good that it almost hurts. There's this stiffness clinging to my body, clutching my heart as I clutch the pillow and bedsheets, crying out loudly as Jean's comes. I feel the liquid streaming inside of me. My heart is racing, I feel everything. Jean rides through his orgasm, my ass milking his cock. After a few moments, he pulls out and collaspes on top of me. 

We lay there, panting heavily. 

"That was amazing," Jean breaths into my ear. I just grunt quietly in agreement. 

"I should clean up," I say after a few minutes, feeling the cum leaking from my ass. 

"Wanna shower together?" Jean suggests with a grin. "Saves water." 

Chuckling, I nod tiredly. "Sure, sounds good," I say. 

We get up, and Jean pulls off the bed and pillow sheets for washing, leaving them in a blue laundry basket for now. Then the both of us, still naked, hop into the shower. We take turns cleaning each other. His fingers feel so good, massaging shampoo into my hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> close to the end! Just one or two more chapters, probably.


	19. (Marco) Date?

Over the course of a few days, maybe a week or so, I receive a few calls. I also make a few calls myself. All of them, both recieved and delivered, are in regard to Jean, of course. After Jean left that day, I had a good long conversation on the phone with Bert and Reiner. About me and how to handle Jean, about how to maintain our relationship. 

"Alright, I've known Jean for a while, and he's got some pretty fucked up issues, okay? You gotta reassure him a lot, and make sure he knows how you feel or he'll start to thinking that you don't care about him, you know?" Reiner said. 

"And you can't go all insecure about it, Marco. You have to trust that he wants you, alright?" Bert added. 

"Speaking of trust, don't fucking break Jean's. He's a cocktail of trust issues, even the small things throw him off. 'Kay? No lying and all that shit," Reiner finished.

After reassuring them that yes, I'd tell Jean how I feel often and yes, I'd trust him and bury my insecurity, and no, I wouldn't hurt him or anything, we talked about what happened so far. Which was basically nothing, it had only been a day. I briefly mentioned the morning sex, but wouldn't give them the grimy details that they practically begged for. The call ended with "I'm happy for you" and "Thanks guys" and hopes for a double date. 

I doubted that Jean would go along with a double date, but miracles _can_ happen.

Other calls included Armin, who had been informed by Bertholdt. We spoke for a while, generally just confirming my relationship and how it was going so far. We spoke of Eren, as well, and how Armin didn't think it would go anywhere. He seemed okay about it, resuming to his comfortable state of self identity. 

Then there was Connie and Sasha, who both screamed into my ear when I told them the news. They were excited, obviously, making fun japes about it. In turn, I asked them about their relationship. 

"We're doing great!" 

"Amazing actually!"

"I'm teaching him how to cook, but he's horrible at it." 

"Maybe if you stopped distracting me with your stupid seductions!" 

"It's difficult, you're so easy to tease!" 

"Anyway, I'm meeting Sasha's parents this weekend." 

"Oh?" I asked. "Are you nervous about it? 

"Yeah," he admitted. 

"You'll be fine," Sasha said, sounding sincere. "They'll love you, just like I do!" 

Aww. 

"Y-you love me?" I heard him blurt out. 

I heard Sasha spluttering with embarrassment about her confession, and assumed neither of them had said it yet. 

"Uhm, I'll leave you guys to it then," I said before hanging up, feeling like an intruder on the conversation. It was the next day when Connie called me back and clarified what had happened, how he'd said it back to her, all that exciting jazz. 

In any case, the most significant call was that with my mother. Before telling her that I was dating someone, I had to tell her that I was, in fact, not straight. My mother was raised in a Catholic family, so I'd always expected her to hold a vague prejudice for that kind of thing. However, she ended up taking it really well. She was worried about me, but happy that I was happy, and said she wanted to meet Jean soon. I told her we would come over some weekend. 

Somehow, I imagined that Jean wouldn't really look forward to that. Well, too bad. I was a master of manipulation (just kidding) and I would find some way to to convince him. 

Anyway, we spoke for quite a while. She'd been too busy with work to have a good conversation with me, until now, but there wasn't much to talk about. Just personal life and a bit of recent gossip. Neighbour Gwendolyn had been caught with a married man. Billy's dog bit a whining child and had to be put down. Arthur and Lucie had _finally_ gotten engaged, etc. Eventually we ran out of things to talk about and promised each other to call more often. 

By now, I'm sure everyone knows about Jean and I, and I'm perfectly happy about that. Except, Jean's been working every day for the past week so I only see him on the occasional evening. It's not like he's been spending the night here, except for one night that consisted of mutual and multiple blow jobs both before sleeping and when we woke up. In any case, it's a bit too early to be moving in. It does seem a waste, though, living right across from each other. 

But I don't want to overdo it, so I wallow in my current Jean-deprivation by distracting myself with video games and occasional hangouts. Currently I'm seated on my coral-coloured couch with my feet perched up on the simple, wooden coffee table. I'm not sure how long I've been sitting there, most of the day, probably. It's evening now. 

My wrists are sore from holding the remote control for so long, my eyes strained from hours of gaming. It's all be worth it, though. My Argonian, coated in dull bronze scales and light, grey armor has leveled up like 7 times and I've completed so many major and minor quests. Not to mention a sick iron battle axe that I picked off of a guard, after killing him.

I hear a dull knock on the door and I pause the game, since I'm in the middle of battling a stone-coloured giant, before answering it. 

Jean stands before me, looking tired and irritated. 

"Hey," I say brightly as he leans in to kiss me chastely. It's weird how normal it seems. How quickly the relationship routine became familiar and comfortable to me. 

"Hey," he says after and steps inside, peeking over my shoulder. "Oblivion?" 

"Skyrim," I correct him. "You staying over tonight?" I ask, eyeing what looks like an overnight bag in his hand. 

"If you don't mind. I don't work tomorrow," he responds. 

"Of course! You can bring your screen and console over and we can both play, if you want," I suggest. 

"Nah, I'm kinda tired. I'll just watch you," he says as he walks away, presumably leaving his stuff in my room. He comes out shirtless, wearing just pajama pants, and slumps onto the couch. My dark eyes follow his toned form, thank god for those beautiful abs. 

"God, Marco, stop staring at my body. I feel really objectified right now," he complains, even though I know he likes any form of attention that I give him. 

"But you're so pretty," I say, leaning over the back of the couch to quickly kiss the side of his head. He swats me away, playfully. "Maybe I can make it up to you? No, not like that, idiot. I was gonna make some food." 

"Fine, fine. I could really go for some ice cream and beer." 

"Ice cream and beer? That's your bedtime snack?" I ask, laughing. 

"Yeah, and it's damn good," he says, looking legitimately offended at my judgement of his snacking preferences. 

"Alright, alright. Connie left some beer over the other night, and I think I have Oreo ice cream," I say, going to the kitchen to retrieve them. Too bad for Connie.

I carry two ice cold bottles in one hand, after opening them, and the tub of ice cream and two spoons in the other. No bowls. Sharing with your boyfriend saves dishes, right? And I am religious when it comes to avoiding cleanup time, as Jean likes to point out frequently. He's not a clean-freak or anything, but he's definitely much neater than I am.

I sit down beside him, actually half on top of him if I'm being totally honest. He smiles and kisses my cheek as he takes the beer and downs a gulp. I pop open the tub of ice cream and set it on Jean's lap. He flinches at the cold and scowls at me while he takes a spoon. I stretch my feet out onto the coffee table and lean on Jean as I turn the TV on and flick through the channels. There's some movie on. It's set in Medieval times and instantly displays a scene of shouting and fighting and slightly unrealistic gushes of blood. 

Perfect. 

I sip at the beer, which is pretty crappy and cheap. The ice cream is much better, sweet and soft. I quickly become engrossed in the movie and don't see Jean moving closer to me. I do feel him slide his tongue along the corner of my lips though. Obviously, I'm now distracted from the movie as I glance at Jean. 

"You had a bit of ice cream," he says slyly before resting his head against the couch. 

"Sure," I say sceptically, grinning and blushing a tad. 

Jean just shrugs, grinning as he watches the movie. A while later, I see him glance at me from the corner of my eye and turn to look at him. 

"Bert's having a Christmas party. Wanna go?" he asks. 

"As your date?" I say slyly. He rolls his eyes. 

"Yes, dumbass." 

"This dumbass will, in fact, go with you as your date," I say and lean to kiss his cheek. He moves in a way so I catch his lips, the sly devil. It was meant to be a chaste kiss, short and sweet, but he licks along my lip and into my mouth. The kiss deepends as I allow him to dominate it. I feel his hands at my neck, mine at his chest. 

He pushes me down onto the couch, the movie forgotten. The darkness of his pupils has swallowed the golden of his irises as he leans down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long, I've clearly lost interest in this fic because it's kind of crappy. and i'm running out of titles.. Only one chapter to go, though. 
> 
> If I manage to make another fic, it'll be a Gladiator JeanMarco or it'll be Levi/Eren. I've come up with a few ideas. Maybe I'll try to do both. .


	20. (Both) Sentimental Celebration

The time shared between Jean and Marco, while not without flaw or stress of relation, has been a humble but elegant vessel striking through the calm waters of an untainted sea. There were days, fleeting days, when the skies were masked behind sombre clouds threatening to bring upon a tense storm. Those days were overcome though, clouds blown away by the eagerness to find success in the closeness between lovers. Some days were cool and comfortable, while others were graced with a blaring, passionate heat from the blinding sun above.

The boys, or men, rather, have enjoyed the commencement of their relationship. Exploring every inch of each other, of body and of heart, with a craving desire to learn. To know.

At present, they sit in a hunched position with the whirring motorcycle vibrating between their thighs. Marco's arms are wrapped tensely around Jean's leather-clad waist, though not so desperately as they had been the first time riding the bike. It had taken several turns for Marco to get used to it. Even now, he quite enjoys it. The thrill of racing down the street, unprotected by the barriers of a car. 

The wind pushes against them, fluttering through their clothes but gliding over the smooth, black surface of the helmets that concealed their faces. It is a newly discovered sort of peace, to Marco. The wind cooling his skin, the motor drowning out all other undesired sound. Nothing but the wakeful city lights a blur beside them, and Jean's back against his chest. 

And Marco's chest against Jean's chest.

It seems a fleeting moment of this serenity before the bike's engine slowly rumbles into silent. The city sounds; cars rumbling and honking, vendors shouting and pigeons crying. All return to numb ears as the two males stepped off of the bike, parked in the lot at the foot of the tall housing building. Hand in hand, Marco and Jean step towards the door, bags in hand and murmuring soft words, as they called to Bertholdt's loft. The door is unlocked, and the paramours make their way to the elevator. 

After gently knocking and gaining admittance into the generously spaced apartment, the pair is greeted by guests who had arrived prior to themselves. Jean parts to search for Reiner, who had received a house key from his boyfriend as a Christmas gift. Marco himself finds Armin and Connie, who are speaking with the green-eyed Eren. Hopefully there will be no drama between him and Jean.

Armin had decided to simply remain friends with Eren, who had comfortably agreed to the arrangement. Marco was happy, and would have been either way, as long as Armin was.

After a small time of chatting and waiting for more guests to arrive, a booming voice sounds throughout the festive atmosphere of the apartment.

"Guys, guys!" shouts Reiner, while clanging spoon against wineglass in a cry for attention. "Time for secret Santa! Go to the living room and find whoever's name you drew!" 

Reaching for his gift bag, of tacky green and red design, Marco heads to the living room and peers through the crowd until he finds a head of silken, blonde hair. He approached the petite female, his cousin's girlfriend, and taps her shoulder to gain her attention. 

"Hey, Christa! Here's your present!" he says with a smile, handing her the bag. 

"Sweet!" she says, peering into the bag and pulling out it's contents. She pulls a canvas painting out of its paper folder and observes the scene before her, misty grey buildings of Toronto's cityscape cast before the warm colours of a sunset. As well was a tall coffee mug, befitting of the bookworm that she was, with prints of novels on it. "Oh Marco, I love them! Thanks so much!" she says as she reaches over to hug him, which he accommodated. 

Before he can respond to her gratitude, his attention is diverted to a figure approaching him. He finds himself staring into the bright, sea-green eyes as Eren smiles shyly at him. 

"Merry Christmas, Marco," he says amiably, handing Marco a black gift bag.

"Merry Christmas, Eren!" Marco responds with a grin as he stares into the bag. He pulls out a small pack, an expensive gift card from the store he works at, as well as a box of German chocolates. "Thanks, man. This is great!" 

"No problem," Eren says, his smile replaced by a distasteful frown as he looks away. Following his gaze, Marco finds Jean's irritated scowl as he approaches them and shoves a gift bag in Eren's direction. 

"Eren is your secret Santa?" Marco asks, chuckling at the irony. Jean rolls his eyes. 

"Merry Christmas, Eren," he mutters, snaking an arm around Marco as he watches his rival inspect the contents of the bag. He reveals the gift as a pack of peach-flavoured cigarillos, a silver Zippo lighter with an interesting design, like wings almost. There's also five shot glasses with prints of band members on them.

"Cool. Thanks, horseface," Eren mumbles. 

"No problem, shitstain," Jean says cooly, almost sounding friendly. Marco ushers his boyfriend before the air between the two can grow more tense. Arriving in the quiet kitchen, the two press together and lean against the kitchen, sharing small kisses before Marco pulls his face away. 

"What did you get?" 

"Ymir gave me a gift card to the pizza shop down the road, and a bottle of wine that I plan on sharing with you," he says, smiling as he kisses his boyfriend's nose. 

"But not the pizza?" Marco says teasingly, nipping at Jean's chin. 

"Mmm, nope. That's all mine." 

"Rude," Marco says, chuckling. His thoughts are interrupted when Reiner calls for shots and party music begins playing. Or rather, Christmas music. Jean grumbles his discontent, given that he's kind of a Scrooge. Marco, however, intends to lighten up his mood by grabbing a tall bottle of champagne, and the glasses they had been using before. He filled them with the bubbling, golden liquid and handed on to Jean, who took it gratefully. 

"To our first Christmas," the dark-haired male says, lifting his glass. 

"To many more to come," the duo-tone male responds, clinking his class against the other's. 

"That was surprisingly romantic," Marco says with a grin after sipping his champagne. 

"I can be romantic," Jean begins indignantly. "With the right person." 

"And I'm the right person?" Marco asks with a grin, fishing for more fluff.

"Oh yes," Jean says certainly, kissing Marco sweetly. "You are Mr. Right." 

"I love you," Marco says, bypassing a moment of thought. A pool of crimson darkens his round cheeks as he glances into Jean's golden eyes, shocked wide open. 

"I love you too," he responds, almost sounding breathless.

"Really?" Marco says, perking up. Clearly this is a big thing for Jean. He wonders if the golden-eyed male has ever spoken those words before. "Why?" 

"Why?," he murmurs, kissing the side of Marco's head. "Hmm. Because you're sweet, and clever, and beautiful. Because you make my world brighter, you make my life world living. Because you make me happier than anyone else ever has." 

"W-wow..." Marco says quietly, blushing further. "I love you, Jean. I love that I can make you happy. I love how you make me feel." 

"I want to feel this way forever," he says softly, kissing Marco's forehead and lips. 

"Me too," Marco says. 

After a bout of shouting, Jean and Marco share a long, deep kiss before returning to the center of the parting. Their eyes never seem to part from each other as they get lost in the fluttering of inebriation. But they are never lost in their hearts, in their affection for each other. There, they are always safe. At home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at our end. I hope you've enjoyed this story, and hope you will read and others that I may write. Thank you for reading this and supporting it, I love you all! 
> 
> Stick around for a Medievel Ereri fic in the future, as well as a Roman JeanMarco fic (hopefully).


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